


We're setting fire to our insides for fun, collecting names of the lovers that went wrong

by TotemundTabu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom Robb Stark, M/M, Sub Theon Greyjoy, Top Robb Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 83,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/pseuds/TotemundTabu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon and Robb are friends since they were both kids, but Robb's feelings run way deeper than it may seem. | NC17 | THROBB + hints of other ships and past ships |</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I felt the thunder

In which I fuse three prompts I've gotten and this is going to be long but, god damn me, I am a sucker for drama and sex; this one is for Mija, Mira and Lavi | NC17 | THROBB + hints of other ships and past ships | The top/bottom role changes over time, if you are into having it static, you have been warned.

 

**We're setting fire to our insides for fun, collecting names of the lovers that went wrong**

 

**1\. I felt the thunder**

Theon chuckles and Robb's stomach feels as heavy as stones.

He glances at him, furtively, trying not to get caught, red-handed, for once. He drinks, slowly but too much, and Jon is speaking to him but he doesn't listen.

He can't.

Theon is flirting with Ross again. As if he needs to.

They have weird rituals: they fuck often, no big drama, no needs, not even to pretend they actually care- and yet, there they are, Theon lingering on the wooden black counter, a thin, long smirk from ear to ear, an half-lidden lustful look, his voice – that voice he uses only with girls, that makes Robb want to strangle him - like honeyed liqueur. Solid flirty, liquidly obscene.

He puts a hand on her hips, she winks and moves her hair.

Robb's stomach is about to implode and he is drinking his whole beer in one huge sip of grudge and homicidal istincts.

Ross simply looks gorgeous, as always, her full boobs squeezed in a dress strategically two sizes smaller, her wasp-waist and big butt caressed by a corset skirt too short even for the twenty year old she was not anymore. And, yet, she is stunning.

She wraps her fingers around one of Theon's black locks, curling it and Robb can distincly feel a clench burning in his stomach as if the organ got caught between smoldring iron pincers.

His hair, no.

“Robb. - Jon's voice is cold and metalic and Robb turns in a flash of guilt – Are you listening?”

“Eh, yes, sure.”

He smiles, but his brother can read him, obviously, and sighs, disappointed. He quickly glares at Theon and whispers “Still?”

Still, he says.

As if Robb didn't feel stupid enough about his ten year long-lasting crush on his bestfriend.

“I just don't like that he is going out again with her.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, he could do better.”

“He is not the one of them that really would deserve more than just a one night stand. - Jon mumbles, drinking his beer – But, for a fact, they both like it this way...”

“Still...”

Jon didn't speak further, as Robb's eyes become veiled by a thick sadness.

Theon's eyes are swift and his smirk extinguishes rapidly, he mutters something to Ross and she shakes her head, laughing and goes away.

“You... don't?”

“Ah, it's fine. - Theon smiles, he seems shy for a moment but hides it under a cocky laugh – I'll convince her next time.”

“What went wrong?” Jon asks, mildly curious.

“She saw you and got turned off.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Theon laughs and Robb would too, but he can't help but feel his lungs a bit stuck – a titubant, doubtful shiver rushes through him as he gives a very small smile. Theon ruffles his auburn red curls “What's with that face, frotch?”

“Don't call me like that-” Robb prostests while laughing.

“Why not? - he winks – If I were you, I'd use it a bunch with the ladies, I mean, imagine all the pick up lines you could go by...”

“And instead there you are stuck at groping asses.” Jon commented, dryly.

Theon glares and moves a finger around signing his face “With this I don't need to be creative, Chewie.”

“Stop calling me like that! Your hair is even longer.”

“But they have a shape, Snow.” he snarks back at him, with elation gleaming in his eyes.

Robb intruded, breaking them apart.

“What happened then?”

Theon turned and hesitated: his lips parted, his eyes glanced at Robb – up and down and then up again, in a second, and yet lingering long enough for Robb to feel the look igniting his skin – a brushed smirk got sent away, hidden behind a more tender expression but, as usual, when he felt too vulnerable, Theon's voice shaked and, noticing it, he faked it lower, fuller and firmer, acting suddenly all arrogant again.

“You two were all alone, I pittied you and came back.”

Jon raised and eyebrow. Robb smiled, biting his bottom lip.

Theon stared at his lips a second too long, because the younger friend seemed to notice him in a blink.

“I'm getting more to drink. - Theon claimed, slamming his hands on the table – Who is up for a plane set?”

“A what?”

Robb smiled “It's how Theon calls an aviation, two kamikaze shots, a paper plane and a champion pilot.”

“...that sounds like a bit too much.” Jon confessed.

“I had no doubts you'd back off.”

“I'm not backing off!”

“You are. - Theon sticks his tongue out, then grins – Always so stiff as if you have a broom up your ass, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd turn out to be a faggot.”

Robb swallows a bitter after taste.

As Theon leaves them, Jon bows a bit “He is a jerk.”

“He doesn't … think that stuff. - Robb smiles weakly, his voice in a croak – He is just... I am not sure, I think it has something to do with his dad.”

“It could even have something to do with the pope, he was a jerk.”

“He doesn't know I...”

“Yeah, which makes him the only person in town who doesn't, by the way.”

Robb seems offended and frowns “I'm not that... transparent.”

“Not about your preference for sticks. - Jon mumbles – About yours for Theon's.”

“Cut it off...”, he pleads in a whisper.

Teon returns with a triumphant grin and a full tray; he hands Robb his first drink, winking, “The barista totally digged you, you should try.”

“Nah, I'm fine. - Robb forces a laugh out of his lips, with a bitter pinch – Let's keep this night just for the three of us.”

Theon's smirk widens, his pointy canine sticking out and shining, biting his bottom lip. He chuckles, his voice dense as mercurium and hot like melted wax.

His magnetic grey eyes linger on Robb's jaw.

“Should I take that as an invitation for a threesome, Robb frotch Stark?”

Robb mouths something, voice disappearing, his eyes widened, while even his ears become purpurean red. He just stares at Theon, mesmerized.

The older boy, instead, stiffens his smile, his glance falls on Robb's full lips – tender, they look like silk or flesh to bruise and tear apart in hungry kisses – and he swallows.

The silence cuts both their hearts raw.

Jon looks at both of them and lets out a nervous laugh, “Gross.”

“Yeah...”, Theon whispers, his eyes not leaving Robb's lips.

Robb gets a drink and swallows it quickly, breaking the spell and allowing Theon to clear his throat and raise his glass, taking his first drink down in a long sip. He whistles, proud, and proceeds quickly to the second one, not noticing Robb's look on his hands, longing and yearning for the touch, the care, the held.

How hot would his arms be around him?

How would have it been to be kissed, fucked by Theon? To share a bed by not watching the stars and hugging each other, but with haste and voracity and need pulsing and pooling in their veins and hearts?

Would have they found love or rather horror and regret and the ruined bones of an imperfect shining friendship?

Robb couldn't answer and the need of a reply used to keep him awake at night, expecially in those that Theon spent with Ross or whoever else like her, making her scream and moan and whirte in the next room.

There was something addicting in how they worked, a well-oiled machine with no direction at all. They went on and on, lead by a current they couldn't predict and, despite how tight it felt against his neck, Robb never said anything over the last year.

He wanted something else, he wanted something more, but he was not ready to lose the little he had. He is no gambler.

He is a scared kid, lusting after his best friend, while he winks at a girl he won't remember the name of tomorrow – Theon is not just handsome, he is wicked, he is warm like the flames of hell and knows damn well how he can twist people.

He has eyes the colour of the bottom of the winter sea, yet they burn like liquid metal when they are on a lover's skin.

Robb sips his drink, wondering how it'd feel to have them on him, burning his limbs, while his tongue fucks his throbbing erection to oblivion.

_That would be heaven_ , he thinks, drinking.

Jon tries to think about something smart to say to break the thick ice that is starting to invade the table, “You know what? We should go take a bath!”

“Are you joking? It's freezing outside!”, Theon chockes laughing.

“What? Are you afraid it will shrink?”

“I'm mostly concerned about yours getting so small people might think it's a clit.”

“Shut your shithole up!”

Theon ignores him, turning to Robb, raising his eyebrows, “Wanna skinnydip?”

Robb gives a very low laugh of embarassment, “I don't know, I mean, we really might freeze.”

He receives a slam on his shoulder and a wink, “But you'll pray to your god for our soul, won't you?”

“I-”

Theon slams the whole drink down his throat and goes to pay while Robb mouthes to Jon a sarcastic 'Thank you' and wonders how to avoid the embarassment he predicts. There is a reason why he stopped being naked around Theon in the recent years: a simple shower after a sport match, the quick jump in a pool naked during hot summers, even just being around each other in boxers all the time in each other's room during holidays or, in general, like they used to – all those things became barely possible, overall they were a russian roulette. How to admit he got boners when his bestfriend slapped him in the shower jokingly as he always did since they were ten? How to admit that if Theon slept in his same bed, as it had been since he had memory, suddenly he would have a mountain in his boxers asking to be taken care of?

He figured to just shut up about it, it would have been quite easier.

Or so he thought...

“We're gonna go to the Salt Wife Peek. - Theon claims, putting on his jacket and throwing to Robb his own – C'mon.”

“Do we have to?”

“There are very few things more flattering than being naked next to Chewie, not gonna lose the occasion to boost my ego.”

Jon probably replies something and they snap and snark back at each other like kids, while Robb doesn't hear them; he is too busy trying to project the worst possible scenario in his head, painting it in apocalyptic shades of a giant erection, Theon looking at him with betrayal and a life of awkward silence at the memory of this night.

He is not ready to sign up for that.

He overhears their voices, far away, numbed by the fear pulsing in his head.

When they arrive at the beach, the chilly air of the night assaults their knees and burns in their spines; they take off their shoes and feel the moist sand under them. Jon whistles, throwing his jacket and jeans on the beach – the moon is crushed and shattered over the waves in tiny fragments of silvery light, the distant wind seems to blow in a howl. He throws himself in the water first, hoping for it to be hotter than outside of it, wrongly.

“Fuck!”, Theon echoes him, following the example and meeting the ice-cold ocean.

Robb is still looking at the ground, stubbornly, taking off his shoes dead-slowly and unwillingly unbottoning his shirt. He swallows, tense, and enters with his jeans still on.

“That's cheating! - Theon mocks him – Miss Snow showed us her cunt and you keep those on!”

“Greyjoy, I'm gonna fucking drowing you!”

“Don't be mad, you'll make a lesbian happy one day!”

While saying so, Theon swims behind Robb, holding his waist close.

“Hey!”, he protests, quickly – haste sour in his mouth, confusion and anger in his stomach.

Theon's fingers are tapering, agile under water, as he unzips Robb's jeans and pulls them down, jokingly. He laughs, his voice honeyed and naughty. He is right against him, chest against Robb's back, and he feels warm, he feels right.

Robb can feel Theon's jaw, even his lips, at a few millimeters from his nape and ears. He can feel how close they are, how close it _could_ be – a kiss, he would have died for a simple kiss, just one.

He could feel the soft palms against his stomach, the rubbing of the fabric on his crotch.

Theon's breath seems like fire compared to the cold night.

Robb wrestles slightly, without any success, then just clenches his teeth suffocating an all-but-displeased grunt.

Theon's laugh dies, when his palm accidentally touches Robb's crotch. The cold disappears from their bones and veins, it gets thick in their silence and they share a look they can't explain.

All that Robb feels is his heart pulsing in his head, drumming it deaf and crazy.

His blood never seemed so dense, about to cloack his fucking brain shut and gone. Underwater, one of Theon's hands caresses his hip, slowly – tenderly, circling the waist and going down, almost in a thrilled, forbidden ritual. There's no decision, no cockiness in it. He seems to not even notice he is doing it.

The silence is a thundering dim, it roars in their closed jaws and get swallowed by fear of moving.

Robb can feel Theon behind him, distancing slowly, trying to not touch him with his groin, and yet, somehow, his hand lingers on his hip, torments the Iliac crest, courts his dimples of Venus.

He hesitates and Robb turns, crossing his glance once again.

Theon's eyes widen in surprise and he stutters for an instant, before looking away, evading. When Robb opens his mouth to speak, Theon enters in the water, swimming away.

Jon stares at him and gives him the most puzzled look Robb can remember seeing on his face, until Theon emerges, catching him by the armpits and pulling him in the water too. Jon emerges again with a 'fuck' and leaving the water, throws shards of water in Theon's laughing face.

Robb's look lingers on him.

The skin glisters slightly with the droplets ignited by moonlight. He laughs and moves his wet hair away from his eyes.

Distance grows in his stomach and time seems to tear him open.

He hesitates, when he could ask for an explanation, and gives him a slight, shy smile.

He could ask, but he lets Jon go home cursing alone, and lets Theon's laugh get mechanical and sharp as coldness comes further; he just stays there, as if it were his place, after all, that small piece between earth and water, belonging to no one, next to Theon.

He smiles, without looking at him.

“Did I overdo?”

“No more than usual.”, Robb tries.

Theon chuckles, shakes his head.

“He is a delicate one, isn't he? - he returns in the water and swims a bit on the spot – Gets hurt too easily.”

Robb looks at him tenderly, “You could drop the asshole act with him, you know?”

“It's not a phase, mom, it's who I am!”

Robb rolls his eyes, “As you want. - he huffs – I enjoy so much having my brother calling my bestfriend a jerk just because he acts like one.”

“Hey, I just... select the people not to be an ass with.”

“Your selection is literally just me.”

“I'm... very selective.”

“Can't you behave at least decently with someone else?”

“I do, - he smirks – With Asha and, umh, sometimes I play with Bran?”

Robb shakes his head and walks towards the beach, cursing as he tries to pull up his drenched jeans. They draw his crotch precisley and Theon has to force himself to look away, coughing slightly.

He follows him on the beach and takes away his shirt quickly, before Robb can put it on again.

He laughs, and thanks the night for making it hard to see the gleam in his own eyes. Robb's ears become the colour of his hair.

Theon lowers his eyes, playing with the cotton shirt nervously.

“I'll try to be nicer, okay?”

“You don't have to.”

“You don't like me when I'm a jerk.”

“I like you... - he pauses, curses, swallows, panics, returns to speak - … and I know you are not a jerk, so I mean, it's not like I think you are indeed a jerk when you act like one, I don't stop liking you, I get the... Balon Greyjoy shit... - he eyes Theon's hands as they touch his shirts and the desire to be touched the same way burns in his veins – I just don't like that my family thinks that's the real you.”

“What should I do: take Sansa shopping, braid her hair and join a football club? - he laughs – I'm a lonewolf.”

“Wolves travel in packs...?”

“Then you are my pack!”, he half-shouts, then blushes slightly.

He looks shy, Robb finds him cute. The long dark hair are dripping wet, his lips quiver slightly.

“I am... not good at people... I am good at girls, great at archery and fencing, that's more or less it.”

Robb smiles, “You are good with me.”

“You are... - he seems to change what he wants to say midway and swallows - … the exception that confirms the rule.”

A raised eyebrow, “Really now?”

“Really...”

Theon seems almost shy, under that moon they share silently. Robb takes back his shirt and looks at him tender and long, wondering what wouldn't have he done just to rest his bones on that chest, against those lips, inside that heart.

He could find a home in there, live off dreams between muscles and ribs.

“I guess, I could try to behave a bit more... nicely.”

“Can you tell my mother you're sorry for that time when you helped her out of the boat by holding her by her waist?”

Theon laughs, “Must be hard being the son of a MILF, hm?”

“Ew. - he snorts – Theon!”

“Hey hey, I'm just saying out loud what all the kids in the neighborhood did in their locker rooms.”

“That's so disturbing...”, he shakes his head, perplexed and horrified.

“Well, it was her or miss Cersei, but, you should agree, that requires one to have quite a few issues...”

Robb wrinkles his nose, “...tell me you didn't.”

Theon laughs, “I had Ross, Jeyne or any of those other girls if I pleased. I didn't need to... also, she looks too much like you.”

He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“I... I mean, it'd be weird...”

“I don't look like her. - he laughs weakly – I'm a boy, I'm not some effeminate... thing...”

“I didn't say that.”, Theon cuts him off and moves away, closing the conversation.

He dresses up quickly and Robb thanks it, because his eyes keep escaping between his legs and he can't hide himself well enough. His ears are flushing red and he just wishes he could hide how his stomach clenches in pain and how badly he needs to push his tongue into Theon's mouth.

“Do you think I'm a waste, Robb?”

He turns, frowns.

“What?”

“Ma-Maron... said that, the night before the mess. - he gives a small chuckle – A waste of a man, he said...”

“He was an asshole.”, Robb spits it out before realizing he is speaking about a departed and he should respect him at least partly.

“He was my brother, nonetheless, and a better son than me, for the matter.”

“That is your father's opinion. - Robb declares, staring in his eyes deeply – And, quite frankly, his scale of values is questionable.”

Theon smirks. The corners of his mouth are pointy and paint small dimples.

He looks no different from the ten year old boy he was the first day they met, a shy glance and a tender heart. Drops rain on his face, he shakes his head, hiding a look – burying that feeling in the sand, that tender shame, that urge to close the distance.

Robb can't decode him enough.

“I like the person you are.”

“That sounds gay, you know?”

“You should tell Jon you don't really think that homophobic shit, you know?”

Theon turns, a bit shaken, “Did I...? Is he really?”

Robb sweats cold. Was he supposed to tell the truth? Would it have been better to lie about Jon's real reason of being upset?

“Maybe. - he swallows – I mean, he could, for what I know.”

“I didn't mean to. - he blinks quickly, he looks dizzy, as if he feels like puking – I...”

Robb can read in his eyes the ghost of his father's words, the shining gleam of his brothers' bullying, punching him in the guts. He remembered the bottle affair quite too well.

He smiles weakly and caresses Theon's arm, “I told him you didn't mean it, don't worry.”

“I just... - his laugh is metalic and falls to pieces that sink into the sand under his feet – Fuck. I'm really fucked up, you know?”

“Quite. - Robb smiles – But in a nice way.”

“Sure. - he scoffs – Must be why people can't seem to stop adoring me.”

He wants to scream that he does, oh, if he does : _I adore you, Theon, I adore you and wish to kiss your chin in the cold nights and the hot summers, and I dream of your back and I get off to your low laugh, so much that I'm afraid I'm sick, you know? So sick. A man who confuses another man for a God sure has to need a shrink_.

But he shuts up and sucks his bottom lip, because he knows nobody else truly likes Theon.

Maybe Asha.

And Sansa, sort of – she has a conflictual way of seeing him, gets scared but follows him with her teenage glances.

Robb had been afraid, a couple of times, of them liking each other, for how little sense it made. There is something in him that has always known Sansa and Theon have quite a lot more shared than a quick look would suggest.

“I... - time passed and Theon is not waiting for an answer anymore, but Robb trembles in need to give him one – I don't care what others think...?”

“You do. - he smiles, hurt – You've always cared, you want everyone's approval!”

“Are we so different on this?”, he shouts, coming closer and holding Theon's arms by the elbows to not let him go away.

He shivers, Theon's eyes are on him: fear, focus, fire.

“You're killing yourself over your father's stupid expectations.”, he strangles every word, letting it out in rage.

Theon looks away, bites his lip until blood gushes out slow and dense.

_It looks like liquer_ , Robb thinks.

“And you? - Theon raises his eyes and locks them with Robb's, and somehow his glance is magnetic enough to nail him – What are you hiding, even from me?”

“I-”

“I know you are. - he yells – Don't take me for a focking fool.”

His scottish accent pops out, rocky and icy, then he seems to calm down. His ribcage raises and lowers in the rythm of the slow waves. The sleepy tides touch their feet, gently, coldly.

Robb lets go of Theon's arms, but soon enough he gets grabbed back.

Theon is not in total stronger than him, also due to his leaner build against Robb's stronger one, but his arms, due to both archery and fencing were pretty much a grasp hard to break, and Robb was not completely sure he wanted to escape that, actually. It felt like his skin was burning under Theon's fingers and yet he liked the sensation.

An aching pleasure, a delightful torture – a spark rides his veins, his nerves, begging him to pull and kiss Theon's full lips, still stained in red.

Theon stares at him, intense, almost furious with fear of being left behind shining on the grey surface of his eyes beyond all the anger. His eyes are the size of the moon and Robb prays to drink from him all the life he craves.

“It's nine in the afternoon...”, he mumbles, humming slightly.

Theon tilts an eyebrow, perplexes, “What?”

Robb shakes, “It's- doesn't matter, look, I will tell you, just... I need some time, okay?”

“I guess I just don't like you not... needing to tell me stuff.”, he puts his hands in his pockets and kicks a stone. It falls in the water with a dull sound.

“I do, just... I have to figure this one out before I spill it?”

“Is it that big?”

“Sorta.”

Theon chuckles, “I hope you didn't get the hots for Ross.”

“I'd be a class A wanker.”

“Mostly, she looks a bit too much like you, I mean, wouldn't it be freudian?”, he laughs.

Robb frowns, “Do you have a habit of noticing when girls look like me?”

A nervous, thin chuckle. He searches for his cigarettes, finds one and lights it – the orange burning tobacco looks like a star in the deep night.

“Sometimes, you know, I'd fancy that famous threesome...”

Robb slaps his shoulder, cursing, but hides his face promptly to avoid showing the embarassment rushing red all over his cheeks.

“Sorry, sorry, I was joking.”

“It's a shitty joke, okay?”

“Alright, alright, I mean, I don't get why but okay... - Theon blinks slowly, as if he got sad – I mean, sure its' gross but... it's us, I...”

“You?”

“I mean... - he seems to have lost every word, he looks down, pass his tongue under the thin razor edge of his teeth – If I had to have one, like if a girl said: 'hey I really want two dicks in me', I'd pick you...”

Robb frowns, suffocating a weird feeling in his stomach.

“Why me?”

“Well, although Jon is in that sense more flattering to be next to, I feel like you'd make it less weird.”

“Really now?”, Robb laughs.

Theon stares at his jaw and neck, his eyes nailing Robb's Adam's apple.

“Well, you know of my weakness for red-heads.”

“You're an idiot.”, he says, flatly.

Theon smirks, “And you should go home. Cat is gonna worry about her little angel being corrupted.”

Robb laughs, shaking his head, “You're kind of my own personal Mephisto.”

“Thank you. - he breathes in the smoke of the cigarette, nodding to himself – I expect a great costume for my stage appearance.”

“The most precious blue velvet.”

“Blue is not my colour, black rather.”

“Or red, maybe, for the devil.”

“Red is not the devils colour. - he smiles, naughty – Red is sacred.”

“Is it? - Robb smiles, curious, - Did you read it in your new book, the theory of colour one?”

Theon nods, breathing in the smoke. The gleam in his eyes crushes against the darkness of the cold summer night.

“It was the colour of holy Mary's shoes.”

Robb scoffs, “Really? - he passes a hand through his auburn curls – Weird.”

“Well, it's the colour of our blood. - Theon seems pensive, troubled by thoughts Robb can't decode, his voice is stained icy and grey, dry and hoarse in tension – So, I guess, it fits: we're made of sacred shit and sin. Banal sins.”

“What do you mean?”

Theon winks, “Love or sex, those are banal matters. We're weak villains.”

Robb lets the wind mess with their hair. His bottom lips quivers.

“How is love a sin?”

“Sometimes it is.”

Theon stands up and walks away. He raises a fist in the air, punching the dark night.

Robb stares at him and lets him go away, focusing on the dull sound of his heart tensing and clenching. The dim light of the moon washes away his fears.

His heart pounds deaf.

A shiver runs in his bones and nerves, painful, as if it needs to break him from the inside.

His breath condenses in a pale cloud that melts and dies in an istant.

“I know...”, he whispers, knowing Theon won't hear him.

Robb hears thunder, through, burning his heart to the ground.

He walks home slowly – he passes roads animated only by tender warm orange bubbles from the lamplights, the wooden boardwalks are impregnated by the salty, briny air, people have already gone home since an awful long time. He hums an old song, tucked and packed in his memory between old jeans of his first teenager years, before Theon meant confusion and lust, of when they dreamed of having a band together and they spent nights awake, lying on the floor of Robb's room; Theon confessed his dream of painting, maybe, but his father would have never allowed him, Robb admitted how alone he felt, surrounded by his family, with a haunting need to be correct even when it meant to break his own heart... Robb remembered those days well, with a bittersweet aftertaste, and so the song playing in the background.

He missed that crappy room with their pubescent thoughts and their ridiculous naive hearts.

The world, in general, was different once.

Theon lost his virginity at fourteen, when Robb would still find it hard to truly understand what happened at night when he would wake up with sheets stained wet and an uncomfortable happiness pooled in his balls, but at first it was not so hurtful – he would talk about those girls and women, take pride in it, wonder if his father would have consider him worthy then. But it was only in the last three years that Theon seemed to have become in need of it, in a certain way, it became like a placebo, a drug, he had to push into his veins to not think about something, presumably his family, but Robb was not sure and by then he just wished for Theon to be honest with him... at least with him.

Robb opens his door and sees Sansa in the kitchen, she plays with her food, letting her fork draw over the little she has in a plate.

“Wasn't your bedtime kind of hours ago?”

She sighes and huffs, “Yes... I can't sleep.”

“Is it that boy? - he closes the door behind himself – That Joffrey?”

She nods, getting a big bite of what Robb identifies as lemon cake with a spoonful of icecream over it. Sansa seems a bit ashamed as he stares at her dish, Robb supposes it's that doubt that all girls' seem to have about eating too much when someone else is in the room, so he goes to the fridge and gets himself some milk and cereals, making Sansa's expression slowly turn into a curled smile.

She chirps, a bit embarassed, but still serene, “Mom says all boys at that age are like that... they are sometimes a bit cruel 'cause they have no manners.”

“Well, fuck no? - he scoffs – One thing is being rude and putting your fingers into your nose, one thing is being cruel.”

“You didn't put fingers into your nostrils, though.”

“No, but that's because I was afraid they would have become as big as Jon's... don't tell him.”

“Won't. - she smiled – So, what was your gross teenage habit?”

“Let's say me and Theon's internet history was not full only of research stuff for our papers.”

Sansa shakes her head, “Joffrey doesn't do that, I'm sure.”

“Are you telling me he doesn't masturbate? - Robb raises an eyebrow, sceptical – Because that, yes, would worry me a bit about his state of mind.”

Sansa pouts, “He is nice, he is just a bit... immature.”

“Most boys are immature. - Robb mumbles – But that's also why you have a older brother who should prevent them from dating you.”

“That would be embarassing...”, she warns him.

“Can't you be a lesbian?”

“Do you really think women are nicer?”, Sansa seems to suffocate a laugh, as she remembers some mean remarks her and her friend Jeyne Poole had to endure during middle school. Sansa still was not completely happy with the way people looked at her because of her irish heritage on their mother's side and her catholic upbringing, she talked about it with Joffrey's mother, who seemed more than convinced she could change it, maybe, that it would have been convenient and...

“No. - Robb replies, interrupting her thoughts, then smiles and kisses her forehead – But they are cleaner.”

“Gross.”

Robb chuckles and brings his bowl of milk and cereals to his room.

He gives a little grimace to the terrible taste they have, and he thinks about how Sansa and Arya last time at the supermarket fought for fifteen minutes in the cereals isle, because Sansa wanted the Special K with red berries and Arya wanted the chocokrave and Bran was just playing to hide and seek exploring the supermarket and they were shouting, so he just took both the boxes to calm them down. His mother told him many times to just get one for everyone, but Robb couldn't bring himself to say plainly to one of his sisters 'no' over something so silly.

But, gosh, he loathes both of those cereals. Better than when Rickon cries for Froot Loops, he guesses, though.

He goes to his room and crashes on the bed, with a groan, finding a message on his phone.

 

Theon: yooooo it's been such a long time

Robb: we lit say bye 20 min ago theon

Theon: ya know I miss u after 10 darling

 

Robb suffocates a little warmth as he reads that ironic 'darling', which, god, he would love to be honest and serious and spoken while their dicks rub against each other.

 

Theon: so what are u up to

Robb: eating disgusting special ks

Theon: why

Theon: selfharm is bad

 

Robb laughs, smiling a bit, then types again, unable to stop smiling like an idiot. Jon sees him, but pretends to keep sleeping, and contemplates giving his brother a serious speech about his shitty taste in men.

 

Theon: look umh

Theon: I was thinkin about going out tomorrow

Robb: we always do?

Theon: yeah yeah I know but I'm asking for consent I'm a nice guy

Robb: fuckin sweet of you

Theon: watch your language young boy! What would mama stark say!

Robb: don't give me that... so plans for tomorrow?

 

He has to wait some minutes, that seem hours, before the message sign pops up again, light blue and shining, on his screen.

 

Theon: I was thinking maybe about an art exhibition, if you feel like it... I mean, I can go alone, but...

Theon: I mean, then I would end up attracting some quirky artsy girl's attention

Theon: being sexually arousing 24/7 is so tiring, robb

Robb: no need to hide your sensitive soul with me...

 

He types it directly and raw, with his heart naked. Then panics, swallows and wishes he could delete it.

 

Robb: we all know you are firelord Zuko

Theon: excuse u

Theon: I'm a trashprince

 

Robb breathes out, relieved, as he sees Theon didn't get offended nor defensive about it. He is sort of unpredictable about it: his delicate side is something Robb knows, but it's a secret in Theon's mind and the scottish part of him is still strongly ashamed of it. Some nights, he'd cut discussions abruptly because he felt made fun of, despite Robb's absolute good intentions, because... well, it's useless to lie, that's what he was used to in the Greyjoy's family.

 

Robb: am I your trashprincess? ; D

Theon: you're the sexy stable boy obvsly

Robb: how could i have been so blind

Theon: too many flute solos

Robb: I forgot how to laugh

Theon: look at ur brother's sexlife report you'll remember how to

Robb: THEON

Theon: sorry mom

Theon: I'll come tomorrow at 10 am

Robb: dude maybe id fancy sleeping?

Theon: sleep is for the weak, robb stark

 


	2. 2. We sipped golden wine

**2\. We sipped golden wine**

* * *

 

Theon knocks down a lamp while entering, but Robb doesn't open his eyes, he just furrows his eyebrows and murmurs “Bran?”.

Maybe the wheel chair hit something? He tries to force himself to wake up, despite the tender warmth of sleep and the blanket. 

Theon Greyjoy is in front of him, foot caught under his lamp, a huge grin, and a giant supermarket bag.

“Are you experimenting the hobo lifestyle, cause I'm not sure that's how it’s done...”

“Weren't you supposed to come at 10?”, he stares at the clock realizing it's barely 9 am.

“Maybe, but I know your bathroom is stolen by Sansa as soon as she wakes up, so...”

“Are you that eager to see that artist? May I even get his name?”

Theon hesitates for a second, he lowers his eyes. 

“Tinguely.”

“...am I supposed to know him?”, Robb admits his ignorance, standing up and getting his towel while heading to the bathroom.

“Self-destroying chunks of metal sculptures?”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Thank you. - his pitch is sarcastic, but he makes a small smile – Can I go to the kitchen and grab something while you, miss, prepare?”

Robb nods, “Just don't get my mom's raisin rolls, she'd kill for those.”

“...why would anyone want one of those things? Raisins are deceiving, you think you're gonna get chocolate and you get bitterness and regret...”

“And healthy lifestyle.”

“Sorry, Jordan. I forgot after the menopause your bowels have never been the same.”

Robb sighs, raising his eyes to the ceiling but smiling, “Go... I'll be quick.”

Theon jumps down the stairs, two steps per time, looks around but everyone seems to still be sleeping except for the Cat who he saw exiting the house while he was climbing the tree up to Robb's window and Ned who left earlier than her to go with that friend of his, Rob, in the woods with that noisy wacky blue track of his.

When he arrives to the kitchen he sees Sansa working up something with some bowls.

“Hello?”

She startles, surprised, “What are you doing here?”

Theon's eyes linger on her a bit and he forces himself not to laugh at how much she looks like a scaredy cat. She looks embarrassed, maybe due to her pink pyjamas with a white tanktop that shows a bit too much for a fifteen year old and Theon is grateful they live in a nice quartier without sick perverts around, but he pulls off his jerk face, because he doesn't want Sansa to guess a certain sense of protection that is warming him.

He ruffles her hair and comes closer, hands on his hips, “What's this? Little experiments?”

She puffs, “Promise you won't tell Robb?”

“This sounds fun, deal.”

“My mom won't let me have lipstick. - she sighs – I am a grown up now, I mean c'mon, all my friends have them, even Jeyne got hers, but...”

“Your allowance doesn't really cover that.”

“Yeah. - she sighs – Sooo... - she mixes a little bowl – I found a youtube tutorial.”

“Double your allowance by mixing liquids a bain marie?”

“Make lipstick from crayola. - she stares at him while Theon's eyebrows tilt and his faces forms a puzzled expression – They're not toxic. I just added coconut oil and perfume.”

“...so those are Rickon's crayolas?”

“He doesn't use pinks anyway.”

Theon looks at the mixture and observes as Sansa pours it into a small pillbox space, then starts again with another crayola.

She was so small, tiny, with her skinny waist and those huge eyes – she doesn't seem like a girl, not a full one at all, and the idea of her dating someone seems so bewildering and ridiculous. And yet, there she is, melting crayolas just to get lipstick.

He caresses one of those, as red as Robb's curls.

“Why don't you want him to know?”

“He doesn't know I'm a girl yet. - she sighs – I guess he is scared he can't protect me if I grow up.”

“He is that type of guy, yes...”

Sansa's eyes glance at Theon's bony fingers courting the coloured stick.

He seems lost.

It's like the void between him and the red is sucking him in and Sansa's lips quiver in a tremendous, scary thought. He brushes it off as her brother comes down the stairs – hair brittled, still wet from the shower – a black MUSE shirt that had had better days, a lumberjack shirt and blue jeans.

Theon chuckles, “How straight of you.”

“Oh c'mon... what did you expect: me to compliment your total black? You look like a gravedigger.”

“It's called style!” he complains and turns to Sansa, who, only then, allows herself to really study him, and swallows, hating to admit leather and silk somehow do look well together if it's Theon wearing them. She hums, her throat dry.

“It looks good.”

“You see! - Theon exclaims, not seeming to notice her struggle – She knows what I'm speaking about!”

“Yeah, you should totally read fashion magazines together... - Robb laughs – C'mon, I'm gonna drive you to our date.”

Theon lands his ass comfortably on the passenger seat and puts his legs on the dashboard, careless about Robb's general panic when taking the car. Robb pets the wheel a bit, as a mantra, and starts it nervously – remembering all the rules in his head.

Theon grins, “So? You said you would have driven?”

“Don't get cocky. This car is sacred.”

“You let your dog in it.”

“Are you calling Greywind dirty?”, he bursts out, defensive.

Theon laughs, light-heartedly, his cheeks turning pinker and his voice thrilling light and bright. Robb feels like his stomach is about to burst, not knowing that Theon is laughing not due to finding him silly, but endearing. Theon's puts his hands on his shoulders, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

Robb's pout vanishes in a small smile as he starts the car, relaxing without noticing, and turns on the radio, “Are you going to complain about the songs?”

“Obviously.”, Theon chirps.

“I had no doubts.”

That's something Theon can't explain about Robb: when they are together, he seems happy. He really does seem so. 

Sometimes, he would say something echoing his father's words and then Theon would get struck as if a thunder massacred his guts and heart by how different they sounded, how disappointed and cold his father was, how Robb was always warm and entertained.

Robb seemed to like his company.

And Theon felt like he was probably the only person in the world.

He closes his eyes, resting in the breeze the open window gives him, as the sun shines through the glass and warms the car. Robb drives smoothly, humming to the song, half-singing with his low baritone voice that has soothed Theon's soul since years.

“Can you do Moonriver?”, he asks, his eyes still closed, hiding slightly with it.

He can't be embarrassed if he can't see Robb's expression, right?

A small laugh, “What am I gonna get in exchange?”

“Crisps.”

“Hm, you know me too well.”

Robb stops the radio and starts singing, slowly, letting the words roll on his tongue and melt in the air. Theon's eyes are now gazing at the countryside visible from the window, escaping the urge to look at his friend in an unequivocally sensual way. From time to time, from word to word, his glance would still slip and he'd find himself gazing at Robb's hands on the wheel or at his Adam's apple riding the notes.

The song melts in his chest, bringing to the surface a weird, sticky melancholy, as if the days of their first years together, when they were young and adventurous as only young kids can be, emerged from him again, bringing back all their shades and nuances: the moist stank of the wood they put together in small rafts, the moss and the rocks they stained their hands and legs on rushing through beaches and forests, the sparkling dark blue of the sea they dived into playing now pirates now mermen, untroubled by the future and made content by nothing.

They didn't need a big fire on the beach as night came down nor towels when rushing out of the water all drenched – a shake like one dogs do would have been fine, and then off again, to the next adventure. And Theon would look at the other boy, smiling at him, and wonder if it really felt like that to be liked, to be loved.

He forgot love long before he met Robb.

After his brothers died, his father got – possibly, for how incredibly – worse, and Asha started focusing all her energy on him and conquering his heart over and over, being the flawless straight A student who could also punch a flock of guys and be a quartier bully. His mother loved him dearly, but she lost herself quite quickly, though. 

She barely remembers he is not eight anymore.

Theon thinks about her fingers now, how pale and bony they are, just like his own - “pianist hands” she used to say, but he thought his father would have appreciated archery far better.

At the time he met Robb, Theon's brain barely recognized proper affection anymore... and he was often mean and cocky, but Robb proved himself patient and sure. And Theon remembered how good it felt to be loved, but maybe this is why he can't risk to give it up again.

He closes his eyes again, as the silky voice of his friend winds up the last words; he may try to keep them, but memories have to return to memories and so the seaside and the fireplace and every game disappear. But not Robb's laugh, that never does.

“My huckleberry friend... - Robb makes a small pause, his eyes lingering on Theon's neck, at the shaped of bones and muscle, he'd pay to know what he is thinking about - ... Moon River, and me...”

Theon's smirk seems more tender than usual, somewhat sad. Robb frowns.

“I’ve always wondered why you never sing in public.”

He stiffs and returns to focus solely on the road, catching himself weirdly embarrassed by the situation, “Oh well, it's just a thing.”

“A thing?”, Theon turns to him, horrified and bewildered by that last suggestion.

“A thing, like... a random talent, everybody has one.”

“Examples?”

Robb sweats, “Emh... Sam's... great memory or... your archery.”

“Jon's grumpy cat impersonation?”

As the friends crack a laugh, Theon decides to let it go for once and grabs a crisp bag from the supermarket from between his feet, then opens it and proceeds to eat them two per time. Robb opens his own mouth, letting out a slightly deformed and unwillingly childish, “Crisp.” .

Theon puts one in Robb's mouth directly, while looking at the road.

As Robb munches, betrayal shines on his face, disgusts makes him cringe and he squeezes his eyes quickly and puts out his tongue.

“Vinegar!”

“... and sea salt. - Theon sighs – Delicious.”

Robb pouts, “Why didn't you get the BBQ ones?”

“Cause then there are never left for me.”

“You promised me crisps I loathe.”

“They taste like my personality, you should love them.”

Robb turns towards Theon, while raising an eyebrow, “You mean you are acid, lifedraining and a genocide for tastebuds?”

He shrugged his shoulders with a knowingly look, shaking his head, “I'm also handsome and a real slice but men seem to forget that.”

A laugh, “I see.”

Theon's eyes paint Robb in a low, undeniable heat. He feels ready to melt as soon as he feels he is looked at by him, and yet, he never dies. He waits, he finds solace and pleasure in the constant sting in his chest.

Around them green was ignited by the gold of the sun, morning dew shimmering and the scent of apples starting to fill the air.

Theon chuckles, “So... when are you going to let me take you to the cave?”

Robb stiffs and giggles nervously, “Ah, c'mon... one thing per time.”

“You're taking me to the exhibition center in another city and you still refuse for me to do the minimum expected from a friend?”

“We'll talk about it another time.”

“Your “another time” generally means never and you know that.”

Robb sighs, as he enters the city and starts to look attentively at all the cars around him, nervously, because he rarely comes there. He feels much better in their little town on the seaside, it's small and northern and woody, and smelly, sure, but it's home and it's known and everything is in order and easy and not big and scary and alienating... and there are not thousand people around you who have no idea who you are, just like you don't.

But Theon- he loves the city, he loves the shining lights, the neon, the gas air, the tall buildings with no face, he loves the way nobody knows him and he can prove himself starting from scratch, free of every gossip about his father and brothers the city was filled with and free from his father's disappointment.

Robb trembles, realising that's a part of him he will never understand, for he was his father's pride and joy and his mother's success and... he feels like puking, a pressure similar to a hanging knot clenches his neck and heart.

“Are you alright?”

He nods, weakly, not turning towards Theon.

What would have his parents thought if he went to the cave? If he actually did what he wanted?

If he... pushed Theon on that seat and made out with him, and caressed him and made love to him? He barely even knew how two men do it... obviously he could guess, he knew some stuff but he never really googled it, afraid his reactions in the lower regions would be even harder to hide if he did know how to make love to Theon every time his brain suggested him to.

Theon, at the same time, is nowhere convinced of Robb feeling fine, so he figures he has to do something about it: a smart person with good decision-taking and problem-solving skills would probably find a speech to help or delay the plan to when enough observation has led to a clear diagnosis, but it's Theon, so he just leans in and opts for a joke. Quite surprisingly, when his wet, warm tongue passes over Robb's neck, Robb doesn't seem to calm down and he swerves the car violently on the side, driving it over a couple of flowerbeds and almost crushing it against a tree in the middle of them.

Theon, squished against the seat, holding his seatbelt as if it were a godly shield, turns to Robb, eyes out and bursts, “What the hell!”

“You licked me!”, Robb yells, puzzled, still trying to understand what he did.

“It was to make you laugh not to make you kamikaze us against a flowerbed!”

“Does licking me seem like something a responsible person would do?!”

“I am not a responsible person! You know this much!”, he defends himself, confused.

Robb sighs, taken aback by that comment, “You are older than me, you should be the responsible adult here.”

“Five months don't count!”

“But the two years before those five months probably do.”, Robb points out, not anymore angry, but instead smiling. He looks at Theon and they both start laughing.

“Well, maybe we should wait for the police and clarify the...”

Theon raises an eyebrow, “Or... we could not...?”

“That's not a...”

“...socially-correct behaviour, Theon, this is uncivilized and irresponsible. - he mimicks – Can we please do the uncivilized morally-awful thing when it's about flowers? We killed some tulips, not people or cats.”

“You wouldn't stop for people...”

“I'd stop for cats, I have my priorities straight.”

Robb looks around, nobody seem to have followed them on that street and no people are gathering and he knows he should take responsibility, but there is just something about how Theon said not to, something liquid and silky and warm that sank in his guts.

And there is something about his neck that keeps burning in flames.

They park a few blocks after and Robb can't shake off the feeling of being bothered by something beautiful and painful. He feels his heart grilled, burnt on the stake of that touch, that fugitive rushed away and left him craving.

Theon smiles at him as if nothing had happened and Robb sinks into his shirt and his silent misery, trying to find a happy expression to wear at least for the exhibition. 

He was truly not into contemporary art, he was barely into art at all – he could recognize the big guys and he kind of liked the Pre-Raphaelites gang but it ended there. Theon is different: he just loves it for some reason, he has a sense for beauty and pretty things and art sensitivity that Robb can barely grasp; it feels like Theon can see shades where he sees black and white.

Robb wishes he could be like that, so passionate and talented, and maybe that's why he tries to push Theon towards art, to live it. He knows Theon's father forbids him to, he more than once destroyed his art supplies and threw them into the sea, but not before painting another type of purple on his face.

Theon tried to stop, and Jon agreed, but Robb couldn't let him.

His heart quivered at the idea of Theon losing that smile, that genuine tender smile he got when he was in contact with art. “I'd like to be a sculptor...”, he confessed to him one day and Robb smiled and said he wanted his first work for when it would have been worth millions.

It didn't matter how much he didn’t understand art, he understood love and he understood Theon and that was enough for him to be happy about it.

Theon moves through the art museum nervously as a kid at the entrance of an amusement park: he has a huge smile, his hands keep moving as if electricity is driving his fingers and in a couple minutes he completely demolishes his museum plan out of excess of energy. Robb gives him his one and stays close to him, room to room, hearing stories about an artist he had never heard of before, but that after the day is over, feels like someone who has been living across his street since years. Theon's eyes shine; there is a gleam in them like summer fireworks.

Robb laughs at the anecdotes, seems concerned when Theon speaks about the author's possible depression and psychological issues, then tries not to comment when he sees a sketch of a penis-machine destined to burst on fire.

Theon is happy there.

It's like if he is able to find his place and a mute understanding in those artworks. The deformed sculptures, the crews and the weird iron giants soothe him. He finds them romantic, quiet, filled with emotions.

And Robb is enchanted in seeing him like that. It's such a rare state of vulnerability and light, he feels like if he touched him it could burst like a soap bubble.

He spaces out for a moment as Theon's voice suddenly comes out hoarse, he had been talking so much he barely noticed his throat going dry, and he suddenly sounds so thin and his low voice is shimmering with a slight embarrassment from the memory of the passion he had just put into his pitch.

Robb wants to kiss him, intensely and wildly like animals.

Theon lowers his head for a moment, trying to regain his cockiness before pulling off one of his smug smirks as he always does after he has felt too ridiculously feminine in something. His hand slips smoothly, slowly, over Theon's ear, moving a lock behind it, and as Theon's look raises their eyes interlock.

Robb parts his lips slightly, the bottom one trembles. A word he doesn't dare.

“Yes?”, Theon asks, abruptly, impatience rushing in his veins.

“You-”

“I?”, he hangs off his lips, desperately waiting for a word.

“You are a wonderful guide!”

“Yes...”, Robb smiles then frowns, realizing those words didn’t come from his mouth. Theon turns and a weird man comes towards them, hands open wide. He is dressed in a pink suit, a dark pink, which in some way looks sultry and lustful.

He has the weirdest smile, pointy, wet, wicked.

He stares at Theon as a starving dog would stare at a juicy bone.

“You are...”

“Ramsay, Bolton Ramsay, but you can call me by my name. - he smiles and he looks slimy as a snail or narrow-bone, he side-eyed Theon's embarrassment and a disgusting sparkle of elation takes over his dirty iced eyes – I'm the curator of the exhibit.”

“The curator...?”

“I occupied myself with the settings, the texts, the set-up... choice of works, you know... do you?”

Robb fights back the urge to break his nose, “So... you basically put in a room works by somebody else who somebody else already claimed are good?”

“Well, if we want to simplify it, vilifying it utterly.”

“Why not?”, it's Robb's turn to smirk.

Theon stares at both of them, vaguely confused. Is that really Robb? Why does he sound so angry and territorial with someone he had just met?

Not that he disliked that vague sudden authority in his voice, down there, but it was always Robb's kindness he was fond of the most.

The guy turns to Theon and offers him his hand, “You are?”

“Theon Greyjoy. - he tries to sound smug, but he feels a weird pressure pooling in his guts and swallows – And this is Robb.”

His hands search for Robb's shoulder, then holds his elbow and Robb smiles to him.

“He is an artist.”, Robb says, quickly, and the curator seems to go from a sudden moment of stiffness and annoyance at their intimacy to a giggling joy.

“Oh really?”

“I'm not. - Theon states, turning to his friends surprised and betrayed: Robb did know he didn't like people to know it – I, we have to go.”

“Oh, don't.”

Ramsay smiles again and puts a hand on Theon's wrist, holding it while a sweet smile widens sharp and stingy on the corners of his thin mouth.

Slowly, he pulls out of the pink suit a card and hands it to Theon.

“Call me. We'll have a chitchat about your portfolio. - he winks – I'm always interested in some fresh raw meat.”

Robb clenches his fists in rage and struggles to hold back a punch. Theon sees it, but he doesn't understand it, he can't grasp it. He remains silent for half the car ride, letting the music fill the air as Robb tries to have a conversation and the way the wind whistles, but he can't find a sentence to say, to express properly what he feels like.

Should he even feel bad?

Sure, Robb crossed his line and his comfort zone, but surely he did want to help... to help him somehow. And it was useless to lie, part of his discomfort came from that weird way the man talked to him.

It reminded him of his father in some things, but he couldn't explain why: he was well-mannered and kind, after all...

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine. - Theon mumbles, staring out of the window – I'm not angry at you.”

“I... I know you don't like it when I say it out loud.”

“I don't like being it out loud, it's different.”, he pauses and closes his eyes.

Robb focuses his gaze on the road, but he can't help but wanting to caress Theon's hair and ruffle them. He wants to feel close.

“I was a bit jealous of the guy.”

Theon frowns, “Why?”

Robb sighs, licking his bottom lip and trying to avoid any side-glance, “... because he could help you and I can't.”

“Help me with what: an artistic career? I'm not sure I want it. I like it, but I... it's just a dream, okay? - he smiles – Instead of worrying about this, worry about the fact you’ve never come to the cave.”

“Why are you so fixated on this?”

Theon scoffs, cocky, “Because I also want to help my friend?”

Robb groans, “I'll do it...”

“When?”

“When I have no other option left.”

“Fair with me. - he laughs loudly and then his smile returns into a smirk – God, that guy was weird.”

“A bit...”

“Do you think he liked me or something?”, Theon asks, frowning.

Robb turns to him, “Why would you... care...to... think so?”

“I don't know, it was a sensation, you know. - he shrugs, trying to push the thought away – And anyway why not? I can be attractive to gay men too.”

Robb rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “Your conceited side knows no boundaries.”

“What do you mean? Aren't I handsome? - he seems offended – I think I'm at minimum pretty. Minimum, okay? - he crosses his fingers – If you were a gay man wouldn't you like me?”

Robb is sure his heart will stop before the end of this conversation.

“I... what the hell of a question is that?”

Theon seems lost in his thoughts and doesn't really pay notice to the slight blush conquering Robb's cheeks and how he tries to look away from certain zones of Theon that he just wants to touch since a long time: his face, his shoulders, his waist and hips, his hands, his...

“If I were a gay man, I think I would find you hot.”, he says, half-voiced, thoughts driving him away.

Robb swallows, “Really?”

Theon seems to return to the real world just then and he starts to scratch his nape and nervously rub his neck.

“I mean, I don't know but... you know...”

“What?”, Robb is smiling a bit, nervous, trying to hid the hot sensation embracing his heart as his head starts to spin in joy.

Theon panics, realizing he went too far, too honest.

How to tell your friend you are sure you would find him hot because, surprise, you are bisexual and like him that way since a very long time and totally would love to kiss and make love to every centimetre of his body.

He feels stupid, he feels close to bursting, he can feel Robb would despise him – like his dad, just like his dad.

Everything twirls and hurts, as needles in his heart.

“You kinda look like Ross.”, he laughs it off.

He sees Robb's bright look extinguishing into a dull ghost of itself, he can see the spark going away, substituted by his dull, fake laugh as he calls him a pervert.

He wants to shout, he wants to cry it out, but he stays silent and cool.

_She is the one resembling you_ , he'd like to say,  _I pick red-heads for a reason_ . But he doesn't, the words die in his mouth and Robb's feeble, fake laugh dries in the mute space between them.

Theon's glance is set on Robb's neck, where he can remember licking him a few hours ago.

He swallows, fighting back an impulse, a sensation that if he just stretched himself, if he just pushed a bit, he could kiss him, for real. They could kiss, they could try...

Theon shuts up and closes his eyes, pained. He passes his tongue over his full lips nervously.

“Robb-”  
“What?”, his voice comes out hoarse, stretched. He is trying to hide the hurt but comes off as angry.

“You... I was joking.”

“I know.”, he lies.

Theon looks at Robb's lips and feels a dim veil covering his head like rain, his heart feels full of holes that let the blood drip away, leaving him lifeless, defeated and weak.

“No, you don't. - he says and Robb turns to him and their eyes meet and Theon feels he can't be brave enough to say the truth – What I... wanted to say was that you're a great person and, I mean, I... if I were into that, not that I am, you know, hypothetically, if I were... I'd be lucky to share that hypothetical into with you.”

He swallows hard and sees Robb glancing at his Adam's apple and he wishes he could bite those lips and they could have sex right there and stain the car and fog up the windows.

Robb breaks the contact and stops the car on the side of the road.

When he turns again, Theon is not sure what he should think, but his head is blank and he can't formulate a single thought. He can just feel his head pulsing, blood boiling and his soul about to leave his chest, through the brink of his lips to melt in the air.

His lips tremble in a smirk and Robb's hand is in his hair again, stroking it slowly.

“You wouldn't be lucky. - Robb whispers – I... I would be.”

Theon's eyes follow the other man's ones, he can feel his warm hand and he just wants to pull their lips together, for once, finally. But...

“Hypothetically.”

Robb nods, his eyes still on Theon's mouth, but with a sad expression, and his voice gets sweetened by a thick sadness.

“Hypothetically.”, he repeats, slowly, backing up.

Theon sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and the fingernails into the car seat. His veins are burning in shame and anger.

He wants it, he wanted it. And again his palms were full of dust and disappointment. Nothing more.

Why was he so stupid to hope? Why was he so crazy to crave? How could he let himself think that Robb, his square, simple, dear Robb could... feel something so wrong and messy and... be like him? How could he think Robb was anything like him?

“Thank you.”

His voice is a troubled sob, but his eyes are clean and of steel – as one would expect of a Greyjoy. Sure, a Greyjoy, but not from Theon.

Theon's eyes always sparkled with amusement, smug or cocky, sometimes with lust or sadness, but never with such a strength. Robb hesitates, he wants to fix something but he is not sure what he had broken.

“...you don't have to thank me for this stuff, it's what I think.”

Theon nods, “Umh, I... since we stopped, I might, you know, go down here?”

“We are at still two kilometers from your house.”

“It's a good exercise?”

“You hate exercise.”

“I do. - he coughs – But... I, hm, want to be in shape, you know... for...”

Robb flinches, weakly, “Do you have a date?”

“I wouldn't define it a date, it's more of... a perpetual permission to self-invite myself to Ross' place.”

“Oh.”

“... there is going to be Kyra too, you know..? Do you want to...?”

“Join? - it comes out as bitter and sharp as it could and he feels guilty suddenly for it – Nah, I'd spoil your fun.”

Theon chuckles, trying to avoid a feeling daggering his chest, trying to do- he didn't even know what exactly. He was not thinking. 

“C'mon, it's going to be fun. Threesomes bore you out after a while.”

Robb takes a deep breath and lets out a metallic laugh, like he is not quite offended or burdened by a burning pain, “Well, I'm truly sorry.”

“What's up? - he mocks him – Are you angry?”

“I'm not angry! - he shouts, hitting the driving wheel – I... - he swallows – I don't get why you have to brag like this, it's me, it's us, I know you, Theon. The whole town knows you fuck a bunch, so, trust me, I fucking know even too well! - he is screaming and he doesn't know why and wants to stop because he knows he is not controlling himself and his tongue is getting quicker than his brain and, oh, he should stop, but he goes, and his neck is smouldering still as fire where Theon kissed him – You do not have to impress me, you know? Not that it would work like that, I am not your dad, you don't get manhood points by sticking your dick in the highest number of vaginas of the town!”

Theon seems hurt, he sucks his lips, thinking that's not like Robb at all. That anger... he usually doesn't act like that.

Was it because of the kiss? Did he betray himself and show he wanted it?

“At least I would know how to make them come.”

He doesn't know why he said it but as soon as he does Robb seems to get the blow right in his chest.

Why did Theon say that? After all that they had shared, why did he use it against him? 

“Robb, fuck, I...”

“Get out. - he hissed, trying to stay firm, but his hands were shivering and he couldn't manage to hide it – I'll call later.”

Theon obeys, caught aback.

Robb is generally physically unable to stay angry at him. It's something he can't manage.

Theon knows he'll be forgiven in a couple of hours, but he still feels horribly alone, on that road, abandoned as a dog for one wrong word.

Robb's anger was always weird, because it was rare and passed quickly, but for those little hours it was steel and cold and wintery ice. 

His heart stung, as if opened by a saw.

He tried to think about Kyra, who he hadn’t seen in a while, who is always smiling so sweetly and innocently when they meet on the road, but in bed she is eager as if one could starve of lack of sex. And she always moans a lot, loud, loud, loudly enough for him to stop thinking.

He is tired of thinking about Robb. It was exhausting.

He was everywhere, in every red.

“Oh, for fucks sake...”, he curses, starting to run to arrive at the Stark house.

He doesn't have to rush much, though, because Robb parked not many meters after in the grass, Theon sighs and opens the door, dramatically.

“Hey, Greta Garbo, how is the drama going?”

“You know, if you want forgiveness you could at least compare me to something more flattering, like, I don't know, Bogart?”

“Bogart is ugly. - Theon wrinkles his nose, disgusted – I'd go for something like, mh, Marlon? Maybe.”

“Marlon Brando? - Robb laughs – The Godfather guy, are you serious?”

“No, now, now, I'm speaking about Elia Kazan’s Marlon Brando, okay? On The Waterfront, A Streetcar Named Desire...”

“He was rude to the girl.”

“It's very hard not to be rude to Blanche, okay? Also, that's not the point.”

“Okay, what about Clark Gable?”

“Too feminine, you wouldn't take so much care of your hair not even if they forced you to. - he sighed – You probably still wash them with soap.”

Robb turns, “I tried using Sansa's shampoo, I made a mess and I stank like blueberries for two days.”

“You two don't have the same type of hair...”

“They are both auburn?”

“...she has thick straight frail hair, you have... let it go, it doesn't matter, you are hopeless. - he sighs – I'll buy you a shampoo. And conditioner.”

“You could have been a great beautician.”

“My dad would have killed me.”

“Probably. - he smiles, tenderly – So, if I'm Brando what would that make you? James Dean?”

Theon's eyes widen in surprise, horror and embarrassment. He wants to comment but he realizes soon enough that Robb has no idea what he implied.

He laughs it off, exits from the car, followed by Robb's puzzled look, just to enter again, with a weird grimace and imitating an Indiana accent, squeezing his eyes as if the sun was blinding him “So, Marlon, what's up?”

Robb cracks up and starts laughing against the wheel, keeping his forehead with a hand.

“Dickhead!”

Theon's lips curl up gently.

“You...do you remember that night?”

“You mean the one in which I lost my virginity extremely embarrassingly? - Robb gives a tensed sigh, then pauses – You tried to make me feel better, you offered me drinks the whole night and danced with me to terrible 90s songs.”

“There was Can't Fight the Moonlight on.”

“Christ, I remember! - he laughs, entendered, and looks Theon in the eyes – You danced to Can't Fight the Moonlight with me because you knew it would have made me laugh...”

“...or because I'm actually Coyote Ugly trash and had wanted it secretly since always.”

“Yeah, no, I'd go with the first one. - he smiles – I'm sorry I shouted, I just felt...”

“Embarrassed?”

“Jealous.”

Theon frowns, “Jealous in which sense?”

Robb tries to find the strength to be honest and collect it in his mouth. He holds the wheel tight and turns to his friend.

“I … I might really like... - Theon's eyes widen in need, Robb feels his heart failing him - ...Kyra. I.... I really like Kyra.”

“Oh, oh, _oh_. - he coughs – Fuck, I, I didn't know...”

“It's okay, I mean, I know she doesn't... reciprocate.”

“She'd reciprocate every cock she can find. - he spits out before realizing and biting his own tongue – But... I know it's not about that, look, I... I don't want to stick my drill in someone you like. It'd be just gross, you know? If she is not yours, for sure as hell I don't want her to be mine.”

“That's not very respectful of her wishes, you know?”

“You're my pack. - he murmurs, ruffling Robb's auburn curl – And more of a family to me than mine ever was.”

Robb has the clench of guilt grinding his stomach for that lie, but he tries to forgive himself, because once again with Theon's hand in his hair, he thinks about what he shouldn't and he wants what he can't.

He can't afford honesty, a confession, a desperate _I love you_ followed by pushing his tongue into Theon's lips.

Theon has a wicked grin on his face now, “Hey, hey, what about we go to get some icy beers and drinks them on the beach, mh?”

“Maybe... I'd like that... - he smiles but it vanishes quickly – Can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“That man... the curator... didn't you find him a bit creepy?”

“Awfully creepy. - he laughs – God, he had such weird eyes.”

Robb seems to relax, “Yeah, kind of.”

“Is this why you were on guard? - Theon smiles knowingly and winks – You seemed like Greywind when Sansa brought that boyfriend of hers home, god, I was afraid that kid was gonna get eaten.”

“Greywind is very protective.”

“Just like you. - he shrugs his shoulders – But he never can get angry at me... not even when I play with his tails or ears.”

Robb smiles, “Maybe because he knows you act like an ass but mean no harm, especially to me.”

Doesn't he?

Wouldn't he hurt Robb?

Theon is not sure. A part of him wonders what he loves more: Robb himself or Robb's happiness; and he still doesn't find an answer.

“Especially to you.”, he repeats, a strange bitterness catching him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. One love, two mouths, three heartbreaks**

* * *

 

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, I guess.”, she mumbles, her voice low.

The professor's stern look turns softer, kinder, “Can I call a family member, so they may take you home?”

For a moment, Sansa wants to reply 'yes', but then her cheeks turns to fire at the idea of explaining what had happened to her parents. Telling them about Joffrey's, by then daily, cruel gestures, his mocking, his kisses followed by slaps or laughing, the way she resisted like a fool for months and how, then, after the last slap, she threw a water bottle at him, getting the professors to divide them; telling them all of that sounded like a terrible idea.

Maybe Robb would have understood, but then again – he would have started acting all protective and create such a ruckus.

“Would a friend be okay?”

The professor frowned, “Usually, we...”

“He is my brother's best friend and my parents aren't home. I'd feel safer with him. - she pauses – My father would prefer so too.”

“In that case...”

Normally rules would have forbidden it, but professor Lannister didn't want to provoke more pain in the girl. She had endured enough for days and she deserved a little quiet peace.

“But don't tell principal Baratheon.”

She smiles, suddenly amused, “His forehead vein would probably burst.”

“And so my job, which sucks but not enough for me to want to leave it.”, he continues, giving proudly a crooked smile at her reaction.

“Do you have lessons?”

“I'll wait with you for your... cousin. - he suggests, with a quick wink - I'm sure the ninth grade would survive me not calling out their awful historical knowledge.”

Sansa smiles, gently, relieved. The professor always seemed a bit weird to her, for his witty and often abrasive comments more than for his mocked stature. But he was indeed funny, endearing in a way, especially when compared to the rest of his family. At first, when he interrupted her fight with Joffrey, she feared for him to defend the boy, instead he slapped him, sent him over to the principal and offered her to follow him, giving a hand.

She often wished for her stern father to have a funnier side, as a child, before learning to read his clumsy and shy age inappropriate gifts as nice gestures of love and not as him forgetting she was not five years old anymore; but when professor Lannister helped her, she saw also a side of him that did remind her of her dad: that same caring sweetness hidden cautiously.

“May I ask... what is your favorite Shakespearian play?”

“Am I supposed to reply Richard III?”, he frowns and Sansa just realizes how she sounds and blushes in shame.

“Oh, no! No, I asked for real.”

“Julius Ceasar. - he shakes the coffee he holds in his paper cup a bit, as if it were wine and he missed it – But Richard III is very highly ranked in my heart too.”

She smiles, weakly, “Joffrey said just a stupid girl like me would love Romeo and Juliet.”

“It's a bit overused as a favourite. - he admittes, but then he looks at her shy hands holding and playing nervously – But it's something you love because of a theme you are passionate about. What is the shame? And does it make you stupid? - he laughs – Your teacher bragged about your essay on corteous love poetry and slapped it on my face. Let me grant you I had eighteen year olds not understanding a quarter of what you did. And some things you wrote genuinely had me thinking.”

She buries her pink cheeks behind her hands.

Professor Lannister laughs, genuinely finding her cute.

“You are smart. Don't let anyone call you stupid for believing in love. - he scoffs – Especially not Joff, who at this point, would have been dumped by everyone else. Your heart is way too prone to understanding.”

“But I should have left him.”

“Yes, true, but not because love is silly, but because he is a major jerk.”

Sansa's eyes shine. She was sure the professor wasn't such a romantic but what he said was right.

Joffery is a jerk.

She looks proud and states, “It's true, he doesn’t seem like one but he is. While there are so many people in the world, who seem to be jerks but are quite kind, actually... oh, like my friend who is coming, Theon.”

Tyrion seems perplexed now; how to forget Theon Greyjoy? Big smile, archery club star, uncurable flirt. It was hard to imagine him being such a sweet soul, but being better than Joffrey was not a hard contest to win.

“I'll wait for him with you. - he promises – In the meantime, would you care for some tea?”

“Oh, I wouldn't want to -”

“It’s free of charge in the professors’ lounge and I was indeed about to get myself some.”

“Then yes, I'd love to, thank you.”

Theon arrives unexpectedly quickly, slams the door open and tries to look calm but his hair is not all in place, he pants slightly. He scans the room, but sees only Sansa and the professor.

“He is not here?”

“Nope. We decided to separate them. - he gives a weird smile – Would you care to bring her home?”

“Sure, I have Robb's keys.”

The professor forwns and avoids to comment, while Sansa smiles and holds Theon’s hand, suddenly daring.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it. - he sure is charming, Tyrion notices – Is the boy getting any punishment?”

He is with principal Baratheon right now and I do not envy him.”

Theon sighs and seemes to accept it, before looking at Sansa and suggesting, almost knightly, “I'll take you to lunch before taking you home.”

Sansa moves a lock of her hair behind an ear, showing a glimps of a pair of golden birds. Golden birds sing songs, but here she does rather seems the charmed one.

Tyrion is not sure how to interpret Sansa's behavior, such a posed frenzy, such a trembling ardour. He just has to take note of it and so he does as he lets them go.

Theon takes her to lunch, as promised, even if he does not mention he came with his motorbike, making Sansa hesitating if jumping on it with him or not for a couple of moments. She decides to trust him, since he offered to add cake, and holds onto him.

He smells like sandalwood and angerine – she didn't believe it when Jeyne told her so, couple of years ago, when she had a little crush on him. She thought that he just smelled like what she wanted him to, with four brothers Sansa knew well that often teenage boys just smelled like an urgent need to shower and for their puberty to end. Instead, Theon smells good.

She holds him more and she can feel the silk shirt and the leather jacket and the contrast on her skin sends her imagination far away. He is good, he doesn't feel boyish or human.

Her fingers tremble on his chest.

“Don't be afraid.”, he sorts of yells it, laughing.

She hides a bit between her shoulders, suffocating the thought in the back of her head of how sweet this would be if...

She takes a deep breath while the cold air slaps her skirt and blows up the sleeves of her shirt.

Theon is warm and not much else matters.

For a while, even Robb was forgotten. Robb, Robb who she knew wouldn't like this.

She remembers still how Robb was before Theon: alone in crowded rooms, alone when playing in groups, alone when smiling with friends. He was always too responsible for a child, following the instructions of their mother well, taking care of them too, never a tantrum since he started going to elementary school.

Sansa thought he forgot how to cry or how to demand the last cookie.

He was just so good and so sad. The perfect son, the great brother, the adorable student, but never the happy child.

Until those days when Theon came, and summers became running in the dewy grass and he started to play in the rain and laugh. He started laughing loudly and honestly, not out of cortesy or because he knew someone wanted to make a joke.

He played since then with Theon every day.

Sansa was so curious about this new boy who made her brother so happy. And she expected someone a bit like him; instead, Theon was bratty and often said mean things, he was a bit bossy and loved pretty clothes and shiny things like girls did.

She didn't like him at first.

Until she saw how happy Robb was, how filled, how he never felt alone again.

In a way, she wants that for herself too... in a way, he feels nice. But Robb... Robb would never forgive it, would he?

At lunch, Theon gets her lemon cake and he nervously plays with his fork, he almost seems shy and Sansa is not sure why she finds it cute, in a way. His knuckles are all pointy and bony and his eyes hide behind his hair when he doesn't know what to say.

“You deserve better than that boy. - he says, firmly – You do.”

“Ah- well – I don't exactly have a queue of people waiting to ask me out, so...”

“You will, you are young! - he promises, staring at her, taking a lock of her hair in his fingers – You... you are going to be a very pretty woman one day.”

He smiles at her hair, tenderly. It is the same colour as Robb's hair.

Sansa looks so much like him, Theon is sure she will also be as beautiful one day.

But Sansa is not sure what he is thinking, she just sees him, playing with her hair, smiling. And she suddenly feels a bit grown up. Her lips curl into a smile, she feels a stingy warmth.

Theon breathes out, thoughtful, thinking he needs to speak to Robb. About Kyra.

He needs to.

“Would it be okay if I... if I stayed at the house for a bit with you?”

Sansa blinks, “Oh, sure...”

“I'll wait for Robb. - he explains, but Sansa can't tell if it's true or an excuse, or rather if it’s what she hopes it is – We'll go out in a bit.”

***

“I... I tried it today.”

Robb turns. Ashes from the cigarette fall on his hand but he doesn't care. Grey Wind barks in the distance, following a squirrel.

Theon has his hands entwined, his eyes closed as he smokes deep. He raises his eyebrows a bit, “I tried to behave like a decent person to your family.”

“Whoa. - Robb seems impressed, then smiles – You... listened to me.”

“I always do, butthole.”

“I know you do...”

It's quiet in the park: the wind shakes the dark green leaves and brings around the scent of cotton candy and fries. There is laugher sprayed around like dew and the sun shines in a silent gentleness. Robb's hair shines red under the rays and Theon keeps his eyes closed with more insistent stubborness.

He can almost taste the warmth of his own desire.

“Your sister has terirble taste in boys.”

“I know... - Robb sighs – I wish I could stop it, but it seems like all I say falls on deaf ears.”

“She is young. - Theon laughs – Would you listen to your mother or father if they told you not to go out with your crush?”

“They wouldn't forbid it...”, he replies, automatically, without thinking.

Theon frowns and stands up, “Pretty sure, if you told Cat, she'd kill you rather than have you date Kyra.”

Robb gets suddenly pale in horror, realizing that yes, he did say that lie to Theon and now he needs to remember it.

“I, umh, I guess you may be right.”

“How can you think otherwise? - he wants to sounds amused but worry cracks his voice and his throat feels like dry glass – I mean, are you that into her?”

Robb's voice turns twisted.

“No, I mean... not really.”

Theon bites his lip. He tastes his own bloods on the tip of his pointy teeth and in the corner of his desperate lips.

Inside him his flesh seems to burn. He suffocates in his own heartbeat.

Was Robb really going away? Was he losing Robb to Kyra?

He stiffens, his arm muscles tensing and he moves onto Robb, quickly, swiflty, without thinking. He places his hand on Robb's wrist.

He holds it and his breath fails.

Words get buried beyond his silence and his fear.

There are walls inside him and he can't let them melt- he can't melt and meet Robb with a honest heart.

“Don't love her, love me.”, he'd like to plea, to order, to confess.

_Love me_. His lips tremble, his eyes focus solely on Robb's mouth and he seems to notice, because as their looks meet he looks doubtful and... hopeful?

Grey jumps between them, barking loudly, holding in his mouth a bunch of leaves.

Robb closes his eyes and sucks his lips as if he had to channel a zen spirit in order not to commit homicide.

Grey licks all of Theon's face and the boy laughs, easing up the tension by ruffling the soft fur.

“What a good boy! You gave me a shower!”

Robb sighs, petting the dog's big head, “You should stop eating leaves, it's not good...”

“He eats everything he finds yummy, exactly like his owner.”

“I... don't...”

“You are lucky you have your metabolism, with all the fried food you eat, you should have forty kilos more.”

Robb laughs, “Woman oh woman, don't treat me so mean!”

“You're the meanest old woman I've ever seen.”, Theon jiggles, shaking his head.

“God... do you remember how it was?”

“Singing questionable songs at the end of the school year festival at ten?”, Theon seems amused.

Robb shakes his head, “Wondering what the lyrics meant. Singing without understanding the weight of each word... without feeling how difficult it actually is... you know, making things work.”

Theon frowns, Grey headbutts him and licks Robb's hands, searching for a treat or a cuddle.

“I guess I miss a bit our childhood, sorry...”

“It's hard to imagine. - Theon half-laughs, a snicker running through his spine – I always wanted to grow up. And be big and go away.”

He looks at the sky and lets the wind shake his hair, brushing them as his mother used to do.

Robb stares at Theon's neck, his Adam's apple. Up and down slowly dancing. He gets lost in his chest breathing in and out.

He would have like to be breathed in and out the same way air is.

Just to be in him, to live him.

Untouched and unable to touch, his love was maimed in all it’s chances.

His voice comes out hoarse and feeble, “From everyone?”

“Not from you...”

Theon replies and opens his eyes, looking at Robb. And his gaze runs over his body and stops on his hands which are big and clenched and he wants them against his skin, brushing and stroking. He want to bite his salty neck and to drown in his sweet mouth.

He wants to be his.

For a moment, just one, he feels like it could be, if he just dared to kiss him, under all that sunshine, and they'll both think it's a daydream or a mirage. Maybe a moment in time. And then they could pretend.

Grey Wind barks again and jumps off, running, insistingly barking until Robb growls, groans and follows him, unenthusiastically. Theon follows right after, to find Grey running faster and faster to the part of the park that is just wood and trees. It's all the colour of moss and emeralds around them, with little tears of sunlight dropping from the thick leaves to the ground.

He could smell blueberries and the wet earth. The rain must have fallen overnight and peacefully sank into the ground.

Grey started playing and rolling under a big tree which’s roots were all around in a huge net of confused and distorted lines. Robb sat at the base of the tree, looking at his dog having the time of his life and chuckled.

“I mean, rolling here does seem better than rolling there.”

Theon was still looking at the big trees covering the sky with their black fronts, taking in the overwhelming scent of pine and wood. He never felt at ease with woods, he was a sea boy, made of sand which can’t conceal nor build and of sea in which to drown yourself. Woods looked like safety, structure and secrets and he was not good at any of those.

“Theon, you-”

In a moment, he finds himself with his foot against one of those big roots and he falls onto his knees in the sticky mud and hits his eye against something hard.

“Christ!”

“Didn't your father teach you to look down when you walk...?”, Robb scolds him, his voice shaking nervously.

Theon's eyes still pulse and his knees hurt when he complains, “You could help..”

“I can't really move.”, Robb protested, swallowing hard.

And that's when Theon noticed his knees might be in the mud but the rest of his body landed on Robb's lap and the hard thing his eye hit was his jeans-covered knee. He tries to move slightly, clumsily, taken aback from the pain and made nervous and ungraceful by the embarassment. At every movement, Robb protests and tries to tell him to stop, because Theon tries to balance himself on his hands to stand up again but his right hand is exactly on Robb's crotch and as a result, making him gain a low-pitched, drenched and absolutely indecorous groan.

He stiffens, he tries to swallow up embarassment but all he is thinking about is he'd rather swallow something else as Robb's breath gets harsh with impatience and his ears start becoming the colour of his hair.

And then Theon stops trying to get his foot out of the root.

He stops moving his legs to try to get out and nails his eyes on Robb's face, on the way his throat seems tense with an unconfessable breath, like he is trying to suffocate a moan. And, God, Theon wants that moan.

He moves his hand, slowly, caressing the hill formed on Robb's jeans, moving his palm on the rising bulge, begging for attention.

“Th...”

“Sssh... - he whispers, his voice low and hot, as his hand moves on, mercyless, enjoying every shiver taking over Robb's spine, every little thrust he unwillingly gives – It's... it's fine...”

Theon starts rubbing his hips too, against Robb's other leg, enough hard against him for him to imagine to be rubbing directly against Robb's erection.

Robb's breath breaks, his panting gets louder, herratic. His crotch look so swollen and painfully constricted by the jeans, while Theon moves his palm faster and harder, following the outline of the cock he can see through the fabric. As he goes faster and faster, so Robb starts to move his hips against it more.

Theon licks his lips, imagining how nicely Robb would move his hips while thrusting into his ass, balls-deep, breaking him in two with every move. He bites his lips in pleasure, getting hard himself while Robb lets out a low moan, like a roar and puts a hand over his mouth to suffocate it.

Theon's head is empy and blank. He can't think anymore.

All he wants is opening that zip and taking all of Robb's thick dick into his mouth and sucking him dry, while Robb's voice unravels in a series of vulgar, desperate moans and pushes his face more and more against his bush.

“Theon! - Robb shouts, pushing him away by the shoulders and getting him to stop touching, his eyes are watery and he looks like he’s about to cry or lose his voice – What... what are you?”

Theon stays there, mouth agape, lips shaking.

He, he fucked it up, didn't he? Damn him and his stupid hormones. No, Damn Robb and his being perfect. And Damn that stupid love with no use.

He gives a weak, metallic laugh, a fake one. He sounds like shattered glass and he drinks all of it’s shameful, fragile, bitter aftertaste.

“God, I... I don't know. - he laughs, loudly, damn loudly, like he was drunk or high – I don't know, I mean, you got a hard on from me falling over you so, I guess, I owed you to... fix it?”

Robb frowns, his breath still irregular, “...because you fell?”

“Yeah. - he smiles so tense he can't feel the corners of his mouth but just the sharpness of the shape they draw – I... I don't know, dude, it was weird, no homo, but I... I just didn't want to leave you with that thing, sorry...”

“Ah... I... - Robb lowers his eyes, - I'm sorry, I didn't see it that... way.”

Theon chuckles nervously, hiding his face, avoiding eye contact, “God, sorry, you found it so gross probably, I just, yanno, I didn't think, I'm not good with reflecting...”

Robb nods, weakly, still red in the face.

“It... it's okay, it was not gross... you wanted to help.”

“No homo.”

“No homo jerk off.”

Theon gives a little laugh and then stands up, hoping his hard-on is not too visible from under the shrit as he mumbles quickly, “I... I’ll get Grey Wind, maybe you can... finish and we see each other in... ten at the bench of before... like if you do it by yourself it's going to be less weird.”

“Yeah. - he swallows a bit of saliva and arousal – I'll... I'll be there in a moment.”

It took him less than ten minutes, as soon as he was alone, he could stroke himself hard, closing his eyes and imaging fucking Theon's mouth, entering in it up to the end of his throat, thrusting and coming all over his tongue, having him lick his staff and ask for more, saying he tasted better than any girl. He called Theon names uncountable times, suffocating moans, picturing him riding his cock and pleasuring himself on it, screaming in pleasure.

Theon reached the bench just a bit later than Robb, after finishing himself to the thought of Robb reappearing from the woods and saying he didn't care how weird it was and he would fuck him against a tree, taking him from behind and moving into him rough and raw.

He still felt scorching hot in the hormones and when Grey Wind ran into the fountain and splashed them with cold water, they both thanked him mentally.

***

Joffrey was awful, to say it plainly.

He had always been, so she couldn't say it came as a surprise, she was just left speechless and blank, abandoned as a beach in winter, realizing she didn't expect differently.

She sort of got used to it, slowly, unavoidably.

As rivers flow surely to the sea...

She shrugs – her shoulders burden her now, heavy in the bitter awareness that was hard to wash away.

She can't really pin point when he started being like this; she knows deep down that it's not like he had changed – better to digest or not – but she was still wondering if she had said something, did something, if somewhere his kindness got lost and if she provoked it.

After all, if she fell in love at first, he must have had some kind of tenderness.

She remembers comparing him in her head to all the fairytales her mother and father spoiled her head with.

Was she stupid? She really just wanted them to be true and she still wants them to be.

Arya would totally call her silly, most surely.

She is no more certian she'd be wrong, considering at her age one should have grown out of daydreaming, wishing upon stars crashing down from the sky, eleven elevens and any of that childish wishful thinking.

But Sansa never stopped, nor did she want to, somehow.

She sits there, tea in her hands, staring out of the window, with Lady letting out a sleepy mumble while resting her head on her owner’s belly, and wonders again, one too many again, if she somehow is to blame for how Joffrey spoke to her.

She can't ask anyone, after all, and her advice is the only one she has, which is not always the wisest despite how mature she thinks herself. She could ask Jeyne, but she is not very reliable when it comes to boys, as lately Sansa found she grew insecure and somewhat shyer.

She caresses the border of the cup, praying they won't grow apart.

She has this sensation she couldn't survive alone...

Lady moves her nose a bit, then jumps off Sansa’s lap as she smells her brother coming back and pulls her pullover as to warn her “hey, they're coming”. She earns a long, heart-felt cuddle, which Grey Wind does interrupt, jumping in, followed by a quite drenched Robb and by Theon laughing to the point of an ashtma attack.

“...fountain?”

“Fountain. - Robb confirms, stiff, walking towards his room – Again.”

Theon ruffled Grey Wind's half-wet fur, rubbing it enthusiastically and saying “Good boy, you are a good good boy” .

Sansa squints her eyes a bit, “You shouldn't turn him against Robb.”

“Robb's cologne is awful. He did him a favor. - he smirks – I have no idea why he decided to put it on.”

“He likes someone, I suppose?”

Theon seems to find it ridicolous.

“We didn't cross her today, so, no...”

“Her? - Sansa stiffens, then turns, slowly – The person you think he likes...?”

“The person I know he likes. - he claims, proud – He told me.”

She sucks her lips, trying to put together puzzle pieces that can't kiss.

“You, instead? - Theon asks, abruptly – What are you doing home in the afternoon sipping tea like a forty year old?”

“I find it relaxing...?”

“I’ve known you since you were still wetting your bed. Don't lie. Call Jeyne over, don't close up."

Sansa mentally takes note that men, no matter how handsome, are utterly different from fairytales when it comes to what exits from their mouth.

“It's nothing, really...”

Theon seems to want to say something more but then he falls silent. He looks at her and doesn't speak, as if he got reminded of something or somebody.

Theon is like a weak candle flame, he whimpers and shivers in the wind, shaken easily at any move, and yet he can be so tall and proud. He’s good at pretending he’s a fireplace flame, maybe he thinks he will be one day.

Sansa remembers what Asha told her once, after the lake cripple accident.

“He's too sensitive for his own good. He always was.”

Sansa never completely understood what Asha meant, in a way, because sensitivity didn't seem to shameful to her at all- after all. She would have preferred Joffrey to be sensitive, she thought he was...

She frowns, her eyelids shutter slightly, as she caresses Lady's head, the puppy licking her hand insistintly.

Too sensitive.

It was never a thing at her home, being too sensitive. But to Asha it was, to Theon it was.

Sansa realizes now that homes are different: they have different rules and different columns keeping their roofs up over their heads. Some column are made of cold steel, some of rotten wood, some maybe of warm white stone.

The houses are different and every family has its set of rules she can't know, based on ideas that sometimes will make no sense to her; some of them probably, would be silly like a limit to tenderness, but some of her own maybe were silly. How could she know, then? How to find out if you grew up with tilted columns?

She shivers, iced, as she thinks about Robb.

She can perfectly and lucidly think about one rule in her home she doesn't like.

It was never spoken out loud, it was never written, but both her and Robb knew it very well: some things were not accepted, were not the norm. And for how loving and kind their parents were, that traditional, old vibe was unkind on Robb's shoulders, was harsh against his chest.

“Who would be this girl?”

“Kyra. - Theon says, sucking his lips, biting them slightly, nervously, his smile looked more like a fake grimace – She's nice.”

Sansa seems unimpressed as she sighs.

“Grey eyes?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity.”

Theon frowns, “Dark grey, yes. - he shrugs – Dull colour, if you ask me.”

She seems to find it weirdly funny but doesn't comment and Theon pouts, annoyed at not understanding what's going on.

“Some people like it...”, she says, mysteriously.

Theon raises an eyebrow, “Pretty sure he likes her boobs the best.”

“He is not a boob person, you are. - Arya says, flat, descending the stairs – He likes butts.”

Sansa had given up in correcting her language a long time ago, so she just raises her eyes to the ceiling and enjoys Theon's facial expressions.

Arya grabs a couple of dollars from the common box in the living room, “What? Did I traumatize you?”

“He... he is not a butt person. - he says, shaking his head slightly and frowning – He... he is not, c'mon, he'd probably start apologizing if he stared at one for more than two minutes.”

Arya stares at him in silence for a moment.

“Sometimes you remind me of Jon.”

“I hope it's because of the hair.”

“No.”

“Then I consider myself offended.”, Theon chuckles slightly, trying to hide the embarassment of having two little girls seeming to know more than he did about his bestfriend.

Sansa recognizes a certain unnerved look in him.

“Plans for tonight?”

“I'm going to take Robb to The Cave.”

Arya seemed to light up, “Can I come too can I come too can I come too? Please please please!”

“...didn't your parents forbid you?”

“Yeah... can I come too?”

Theon licks his teeth, contemplating if he can get any fun out of that situation, after all. Even just the potential of beating Jon at pleasing his favourite sister would, after all, be quite enough, but a part of him is still intrigued and curious about what Arya would know that he hasn’t noticed.

Arya knows she won and a grin widens on her lips.

Sansa pouts, “She is younger than me! If she comes, then I can too!”

“Hey, hey, did this turn into a fieldtrip?”

“This is why you should never promise a sibling anything. - Robb comments, dryly, from behind – Now just pray that Rickon and Bran want to stay home.”

Theon puffs his cheeks in disappointment and slight offence, but he can't manage to keep it long. His eyes wander on Robb's body, while the boy dries his hair in a towel, changed into some new clothes that seem to have sticked a bit too much to his still moist chest.

Robb's smile is tearing a hole into Theon's stomach but he pretends he doesn't mind.

Robb has that way of tearing him apart and making it delightful.

“How bad can it be? - he grins – Me, you, two underage girls at a concert, I mean... I'm having Alaska High flashbacks here.”

Sansa turns to Robb with her jaw dropped.

“They were not underage. And nothing happened that night.”

“Nothing happened to you.”, Theon chuckles, joking.

Robb raises his eyes to the ceiling and swallows, as if it's hard to, then he laughs it off. He is a terrible liar, they both are.

Theon smirks, “Okay, girls, go prepare yourself! At 5 we have to be out!”

Arya rushes to her room, already visualizing which band T-shirt she’s going to put on, while Sansa stands up, a bit uncertain, turns to Robb.

Why did he name Kyra? He must have known it made no sense.

She could understand not being able to confess, but faking another crush, that was some Robb level of avoiding topics. She sighs and smiles, “Robb, can you come upstairs with me?”

“Why?”

“To help me pick something directly, since if I wore something you'd disapprove of, I'd have to change again.”

Robb rolls his eyes but has to admit she does have a point and follow her. Theon seems to give up and sits there, looking outside the window, deciding to wait.

When Sansa closes the door behind them, Robb guesses there is something more from her tense look.

“Is everything okay?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“...whoa, did Arya possess you?”

“Why did you lie to Theon about liking Kyra?”

Robbs scoffs, awkward, shrugs and tries to look away, “I... I didn't lie, I quite like-”

“What about her, mh? What's her favourite music? Movie? Book? What are her flaws and good points? - she puts her hands on her hips, like a mother – What got you to like her, mh?”

“I...”

“There is a difference between not telling Theon the truth and telling him a lie!”

Robb's face becomes pale, “Truth? Which... which truth are you speaking about?”

Sansa stares at him, slightly done, breathing deeply. Her look is clear enough for Robb to blush and hide his face.

“...you... I'm not sure what you think, but...”

“Robb, please, I'm the last person in this house you'd have to fear to know. - she smiles – I always knew.”

Robb lowers his head, “But he doesn't... I can't risk to telling him.”

“Shouldn't you ask him before deciding he doesn't feel anything?”

“He is Theon: he'd close up like a hedgehog and I'd lose him. - Robb whispers, almost panicky and with shiny wet eyes – He, he likes girls.”

“You can like both? - Sansa suggests, kindly – Also, he only dates red-heads...?”

“I can't risk taking a quirk as a sign he actually loves me. I am a man, Sansa, he could be horrified, he could run away... He doesn't like men and even if... even if he liked me, with his father do you think he could let himself like me?”

“Robb... - she seems to plead him – Lying is not a solution. If he likes you, this is just going to make him not tell you.”

“But if he doesn't... it will keep away his suspicion for a while.” He adds while recalling the incident at the park.

Sansa sighs, giving up. He was as stubborn as his father sometimes. She just comes close to him and caresses his cheek, tenderly. It was the first time in fifteen years that she saw him tearing up, against her hands, as if the burden that clogged his throat loosened up and he finally let the skin breathe out all the sadness.

“Don't tell dad...”

“I won't tell anyone. - she promises and then goes on her tip toes and kisses his forehead – You will come out when you feel ready, just don't exclude me from your life out of fear...”

“I just thought... if I said it, you wouldn't have... you would have lost a part of me.”

Sansa smiles and shakes her head.

“No offence, Robbie, I knew you liked Theon since I was ten, if anything, we lost years of sharing. - she lowers herself again and brushes slightly his hair with her fingers – And since the same time, I always knew you two were meant to be together, whichever way this will be.”

Robb smiles and rubs his eyes, “Thank you.”

“Go prepare, c'mon, I can't even use the gay brother card to get outfit advice since when they were distributing the stereotypical skills you were hiding.”, she says, shooing him out of the room.

She rests her palms against the closed door, as she realizes in her heart that she hopes for both Theon to love Robb and for him not to.

A weird fire burns her guts and transforms into tears she can't pour.

She trembles and wears a smile.

When she goes down, ready, she finds Robb and Theon laughing at the table, Robb looking like nothing troubled him and Theon snorting a bit, slapping Robb's shoulders. He always searched for contact, always pinned his eyes and his attention on Robb.

She found herself wondering what was the truth: if Theon also loved Robb as shyly as her brother loved him, as afraid and as silly, or if after all he was really so straight he couldn't see he would have fitted better with him than with any of the girls he fucked.

She caresses her own red hair.

The colour of Robb's hair.

The colour of fire, the colour of blood, the colour of copper and autumn leaves and her own, her own damn hair – and Robb's hair.

“Hey, princess! - Theon turns to her and smiles, shining – The mission today is making your big brother so drunk he'll jump onstage at open mic night and sing, do you think we can work on that?”

Robb shrugs his shoulders, “Pft, good luck with that.”

“Oh please Robb! - Arya jumped – You have to do it! That would be so cool!”

“No, that would be embarassing and unnecessary...”

Arya sticked out her tongue, “It's three against one and last one who comes sits in back!”, she claims before rushing to the car.

“Wait, that's unfair!”, Robb starts to run to the car against his sister.

Theon rolled his eyes, “Does this count as baby-sitting?”

Sansa smiled, shy, lowering her eyes, “I'll try to behave.”

“I'm sure you will. - he winked, he put an arm around her shoulders – You always do.”

Sansa got paralyzed, could barely hear anything, her heart took over her ears with the dim din of it’s drumming. She could feel the heat from her shoulders warm her skin and make bruised sparks run through her veins, transmitting warmth and a dizzy weakness.

Theon moves a little plastic bag next to her and Sansa seems to wake up and take it.

“What is it?”

“Crayola doesn't sound like a great idea. - he kisses her cheek, whispering – Take more care of yourself.”

Sansa remains still as Theon walks to Robb, while her stomach clenches in a grasp she'd hope to deny. She keeps the little bag and puts it quickly inside her pochette, unable to look at it right then.

As Theon smiles to Robb, enraptured and enchanted, as if Robb were the sun, for the first time, Sansa would like not to see it.

Arya looks over at her and frowns without commenting.

Theon and Robb are the ones who get the front seats in the end, while Arya gets to pick their dinner before going to The Cave; it feels good to be in the car with the two big boys, she misses Jon but since he met a new group of friends which somehow seemed not really into having the little girl around they spent less time playing and going around, and Theon always seemed a bit weird to her, but not in a bad way – he was just very similar to Sansa in many things, except he was a boy so he skipped all the gooey romantic things that Arya finds boring and he can actually play the guitar. While they are in the car, he puts on a song to try and convince Robb to sing with them and he explains to Arya how to play the guitar part, that is really easier than it seems, and Arya feels big and cool. They don't explain to her what the singer means when he sings “made a meal outta me ” but she promises herself to google it because when he says it Theon looks at Robb like it means something to him.

Theon looks at Robb a lot, when Robb is distracted. Robb does the same, as soon as Theon turns.

It's like those cartoons in which two characters keep sticking their heads out at different sides of a tree and never catch each other. Arya finds it weird but munches her bacon burger and doesn't ask, because she feels like if she says it she will get scolded.

Maybe Sansa would know, but she doesn't think she'd say it to her – she often thought Sansa didn't like her much, after all. Maybe if she were a boy, a brother, like Bran or Rickon, she would have liked her more. Maybe she was disappointed to have a sister and wasn’t able to make braids and dress up together.

Mom often said they were the same, so maybe Sansa wanted a small self and Arya couldn't be like that. She felt angry and the taste of the burger became bitter in her mouth.

“Are you all quiet because I'm here too?”, she snaps.

Sansa moves her head slowly, “What? No, not-”

“When you are with Margaery or Jeyne you blabber all the time, but as soon as I'm with you, you shut up.”

Sansa frowns, “Not everything is about you.”

“Then what is it about? - she asks, getting fired up with a weird uneasy sensation of loneliness, like her borders are surrounded by a void and nobody can reach her – That your boyfriend doesn't want you to go out with other boys?”

“It's... it's different, I'm with family... and this is really not your-”

“Theon is not your brother! So he is a boy!”

Robb turns, “Hey, hey, girls, calm down.”

Arya turns to Robb, shouting, “Theon is a boy, right? Not like a brother or a cousin, so he is not family.”

“He... he is my best friend so he sort of is...”, Robb mumbles, slowly, a bit embarassed, while Theon tries to drive straight.

“But, like, if he and Sansa had kids they wouldn't be dumb like they are from siblings right?”

“Arya!”, Sansa shouts, outrageoudsly embarassed while Robb seems horrified and vaguely scared.

Theon steps on the brakes and turns, “Arya, no offence, but your sister is a bit young for me and having kids is not in my initinerary for like... ever?”

“But you count as a boy.”

“I... guess I do, but you and Sansa are like... - he seems a bit red in the face, it's not like usual, and his voice seems tender and raw like a fruit without its peel – I’ve known you since you were so small, you are kind of my cousins, after all.”

Sansa falls silent and stares at her feet, mute. Arya smiles, satisfied, all proud, “Then Joffrey can't annoy you about it. And well, anyway, if he did, I would punch him.”

“Nobody is going to punch anyone. - Robb said, calmly – Punching is bad.”

“Theon. - Arya continues – So is Robb like your brother too?”

Theon's eyes linger on Robb, on his mouth, which let out such wet and needy sounds in the woods, which almost called his name in the midst and the myst of it.

He wants more, he wants to devour and possess, voraciously kiss and lose himself in him.

He felt cut in half and there his half was; and for once he was so close, so close to having him, and then it all went to dust. His lips burn, because they need to be fed on him, to eat his moans and his groans, to have his voice echo in his ribcage and warm his heart.

Sansa bites her lips and a cold catches her shoulders. Theon's voice trembles and she can feel it on her neck despite the void between them, she can feel the fear and the love, she can feel the truth he can't confess.

And she feels a thorn in her heart begging her not to help.

But then she sees Robb stiffing, and she feels his breath getting thicker and more hesitant and the idea of hearing a 'yes' ready to blow up his heart like a cannon through his flesh and soul.

And she can't abandon him.

“It's more complicated between them. - she says, regining enough strenght to fake a smile – They are best friends, and they never saw each other in diapers.”

“True. - Arya seems to weight this new information – But if they stay friends until 80, they probably will.”

Sansa catches a laugh in the back of her throat and says “That's so gross!”, pretending disgust, while she feels her heart lighter for a moment.

The blue and green lights of the club hide the sadness as it came out again on her face, she hid her fears in a big peach ice tea and Arya enjoyed every bit of the various not professionals singing songs of every genre, full of energy. She moves her feet to the rythm and cheers for her favourite: a red-head with a bush like Merida – who was her favourite Disney princess, but that was a secret for their brothers to keep because she didn't want to admit she did like a Disney princess – who sang a song Arya only heard from Robb's old cds once or twice.

“C'mon, you should go too!”, Theon smiles, hitting Robb's shoulder encouragingly.

“...I said no, it's... it's embarassing.”

Theon pouts, “Hey, I brought you the fan club!”

“It was sweet but - he looks at the crowd, the cheer, the idea of having his heart naked, easy to see through and his lies far away and unable to shield him terrifies him to the bones’ marrow – I can't.”

“Robb, one song. Please.”

Arya nods, “One, Robb!”

“I said no. - his voice comes out harsher, like thunder in the quiet night – Just drop it, okay?”

Theon looks down and drinks his gin quickly before standing up and going to the bar.

Arya turns and frowns, but doesn't get why everyone is tense, because she often storms out but means very little after one hour. But she sses Robb's blue eyes turn sadder, she sees the sea in them turn cold and empty.

There's a light in there that shines only with Theon.

Arya is not sure why. She munches her straw, observing in silence, as Robb stiffens again, this time as if pain pierced his stomach or chest, and unknowinlgy moves a bit forward. At the counter, Theon is speaking to a girl.

Robb's bottom lip quivers, his lips parted in a voiceless sigh.

Not again, he seems to plea; but yes, it is again.

And she smiles and Theon stares at her boobs, and she plays with her hair and Theon passes a hand on her waist, and there she goes laughing at a silly joke with lust glistering in her eyes and Theon ready to offer her a nice drink and a refreshing fuck.

His heart sinks and drops and Robb thinks he’d probably lost it.

His ribcage is empty and his blood becomes ice.

The girl's laugh sounds so big and loud in his head, as if they were close, as if there was no music all around.

Arya looks around confused, “What's wrong?”

Now Robb can't stop thinking about how scorching hot Theon's eyes were as he touched him in the woods. He was smoldering desire and pure fire.

He wishes he could go back and not stop him and look at him in the eyes while melting against his hand. Maybe, maybe that was his only life chance to be his.

And Sansa clenches her pretty hands and her knuckles are white as her skin. She looks angry and Arya stiffens because she had never seen Sansa with such strong eyes.

She had always been so... tamed.

Sansa looks at Robb in anger and sadness: why doesn't he speak up? Why doesn't he confess? Why not grasping him and saying something?

Why was he so scared?

And... And Theon...

She stands up and walks up to Theon, touching his shoulder, “We have to speak.”

He turns to Robb, seeing him saddened, but doesn't speak. He says goodbye to the girl and goes with Sansa somewhere quieter, where sounds would be more merciful.

“What's wrong?”

“What's wrong with you! - she asks, half-yelling – Why are you flirting with that girl?”

“...she was cute and I was having fun?”

“Do you ever think about anybody else besdies you? Did you think about how it'd make others feel?”

Her voice trembles, as she remembers Robb's expression. She probably had a similar one.

“Sansa, what are you...”

“How people may be sad or lost, how maybe they like you and it's painful... seeing you like this... maybe they can't say it but it hurts.”

Her voice melts in a croacked sob.

Theon frowns, “I don't get what you're speaking about.”

Robb was about to cry, because he saw that scene over and over and it never ended, like torture-watching a scene for all eternity. Robb trembled and Robb was afraid and Robb was silent, so mute, so alone.

“You may... you may think someone doesn't love you but... - Robb was so in love and so desperate and Sansa hated herself because her heart would only let her think about her own pain and how much her eyes burned - ...but Theon, you do this in front of them so easily.”

Robb was always watching him when Theon wasn’t looking.

He was always watching. Robb.

“I'm always watching you....”

Theon hesitates for a moment, he blinks. He swallows and he feels the wine and gin in his brain and he can't think well.

“You... ?”

“I know to you I'm a stupid child... - she melts in tears but stands tall – But do you... don't you know how it is... to want someone to burn inside your ribs and bones and seeing them... so far away, never with you, never in you, never... loving you?”

Theon's hand caresses hers, he brushes her waist and hips slightly, she stiffens and lowers her head, but Theon doesn't let her. He traces her veins and shivers, he'd drink them if he could.

He sees her now, just like him: so sad and unloved. He sees her and wants her to be happy.

For that little fragment of him in her to find peace, because he knew – he never did.

Robb.

Robbb would never look at him nor love him.

As he wouldn't love Sansa that way.

His fingers tremble on her neck as he bows. He doesn't want to hurt her, but they were the same two silly kids, in hopeless love. As he placed a soft kiss on her lips, Sansa seemed to lose the earth under her feet.

It was tender, and different.

She feels like home, he feels good- he is not alone. And she is not either, so she won't become like him.

He touches her skin with the grace one plays with the slowest, tenderest waves, arriving at land tired and small, letting the foam melt against their skin. A touch he doesn't know, a touch he never met.

She looks so lost and he can see a dark shade of his own colour in her.

His thumb circles her lips and parts them. And Sansa frowns, uncertain, with eyes full of tears.

He knows how it feels.

He takes her face between his hands and moves gently, kissing her lips. Sansa shivers against his mouth, as if breathing pierces her lungs, and presses more.

Theon's lips are warm and soft, he caresses her hair and Sansa loses herself in the sandalwood scent.

She closes her eyes, to taste fully.

Because it's a moment, it's a dream – there is such a blue note. And kisses are supposed to be red.

Even she knew that much.

Theon separates slowly and Sansa's mouth follows.

When she opens her eyes, Theon looks confused but not scared; and then he comes down on her again, drowning his lips in hers. It's weird, because he tastes like alcohol, this time, as he opens it more and pushes her tongue a bit through – it's big and hot and Sansa fills filled to the brink by it. She is unsure how to move, her fingers touch his shoulders.

Her eyes fill with tears, because all she can feel is the blue coming out of their skins, steaming onto the ceiling like an azure sad smoke.

Theon tastes like the alcohol he drank to avoid Robb.

Is she another glass?

She trembles. He separates and caresses her hair and she fears for the worst – for him to disappear and her being again alone, unloved.

Theon smiles, and Sansa’s feet feel light.

Maybe, after all...

“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love... but my mind holds the key...”

Theon's glance moves and he turns towards beyond them, he looks beyond the crowd, beyond the curtains that hide them. Because he knows that voice.

Sansa frowns, doubts. Her arms lose strenght.

When Theon's eyes meet Robb on the stage, they fill with light and his lips get lifted slowly in a smile. A sweet smile.

Not a smirk.

A sweet, enamoured smile, which she knows, is all for him.

Has she even ever seen that smile? Or was Robb always so close that fear would stop Theon from relaxing?

Was this his real face? The real face of the turbulence, the jealousy, the perpetual player with a child’s heart?

She feels tears ready to stream out and with all the little voice, almost a whisper, she can get, she lets out.

“You should go to him...”

Robb's auburn curls are touched by glistering blue lights, he holds the microphone a bit too close. And Theon knows he is a bit red in the face, despite the green over it tries to hide it. And his baritone voice trembles on the high notes, and his knuckles are all white. He has his eyes closed, singing form the bottom of his heart, letting finally things come into place. Robb is there, Robb is trying to let what he loves to do come out.

Theon barely hears anything Sansa says because in that moment he forgets how they felt, he forgets how it is to be unloved, and that Robb would never love him suddenly doesn't matter. His heart is full of way more than what he can get.

His voice echoes in his lungs and teaches him how to breathe.

He walks towards Robb, mesmerized, as Robb turns and their looks interlock.

“Set my body free...”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

** 4\.  And a freight train running through the middle of my head, only you can cool my desire **

* * *

 

Robb's fingers leave the guitar chords as the crowd cheers and he leaves the stage without ungluing his eyes from Theon.

He gives back the rented guitar and Theon approaches, with a weird smile on his lips – he is not smirking, he looks like he’s in awe, inspired, the corners of his lips seem to be unable to lower themselves from his cheeks and his eyes shine.

“You did it...”

Robb turns and nods. His lips get bitten, sucked and mistreated by his nervous teeth, he scratches his nape and reaches for his friend with a weird spark tormenting his spine down to the marrow.

His hand needs Theon's arm.

“It was for you.”, he whispers.

Theon blinks, “I know, you wouldn't have sung for yourself... you can be so ridiculously shy, I had to convince you to.”

Robb's lips open again, in sadness, “I didn't mean it that way.”

“Ah... - Theon moves his hair from his face nervously, he shakes his head a bit – I'm sorry, I... I don't think I get it, I'm a bit tipsy.”

Robb's hand holds onto Theon's arm, firmly, strongly. It feels like a bird of prey sinking into the much longed for dinner.

He looks hungry, in fact, a feverish redness caught itself in his eyes and cheeks.

He moves in and grabs Theon's face, pulling it down to him, pushing their lips together and drowning in them. Theon stiffens against him, but doesn't push him away, his lips open slightly, quiver against Robb's. He can feel their breaths melt into one and Theon's hand touching his neck, then pulling away, hesitant, doubtful.

Robb swallows, separating himself just enough to whisper a lie, “I'm quite drunk too.”

Theon frowns, trying to think again while his lips pulsed and felt bruised, in need of more, “What?”

“I had to... to go on the stage.”

Theon laughs and a weird feeling catches his heart, caressing its back and slowly creeping and insinuating itself between its fibres and wrinkles. 

If they were both drunk, maybe... maybe Robb wouldn't have remembered. Maybe it would have not ruined anything – maybe it was their Las Vegas night, a moment frozen and forgotten by their heads, while their bones, their hearts would remember the forbidden pleasure in the fog.

Maybe he could have had one night with his love after all.

Maybe to Robb it would have been a drunk experiment that should be forgotten but maybe... maybe he wouldn't have spent his nights thinking about how it would be if those fire-haired girls were him.

Maybe he wouldn't have to spend his life feeling untouched by light.

Theon stands a little taller, takes Robb's shirt collar and pulls him against his lips again, opening his mouth and making space with his tongue in Robb's. He shivers against him and Theon smirks, continuing. Elation rushes through his veins, makes his blood thicker, as Robb finally lets him in and gives in to his siege.

Robb holds him by the hips, presses his hands on his back and keeps him close as their tongues entwine and fill each other's mouth in eagerness and need.

Theon runs his fingers through Robb’s curls, he pulls him close as thirsty men put water to their mouths in the desert. He breathes him, he drinks him, he devours him.

Theon pushes into Robb, feeling his mouth against his tongue, the warmth, the taste – how sweet he was and how much it stung knowing it was just for this once. He feels his blood rushing with the need of feel it all, to have him carved inside his body.

If his flesh could just welcome Robb like a scar, and carve that memory into his bone, to keep it safe, to keep it vivid and strong and never blurred away by time, then, Theon thinks, it might be worth losing happiness after just one taste.

And Robb pulls Theon closer by his hips, he feels his lunar crest, under his jeans, he feels the muscles of his loins; he imagines biting them and kissing them, having Theon shake and tremble and moan under him. He wants him. He wants all of him, desperately.

He wants Theon close, he wants Theon under his skin and beyond all of their defences.

For one night, it didn't matter if he had to pretend to be drunk, if he had to act as if he didn't remember the day after, nothing mattered except that Theon, tipsy and needy, was kissing him deeply.

He is Icarus, playing with the sun’s rays between his fingers, throwing himself to his own ruin, just to taste the sun. Just to have it for once close to him after being a prisoner of silence for all his life.

No Dedalus' plea could keep him.

His false wings had melted long before and were dripping wax from his heart.

Theon's fingers pass through Robb’s hair, his tongue explores his mouth, his hips start moving against Robb's touch, searching for him, asking for something more. 

Robb's hand moves onto Theon's ass in a silent request that doesn't get refused; Theon smiles into the kiss, deepening it.

Robb separates himself again; his heartbeat is deafening him and his whisper comes out almost voiceless and constricted with desire, “You kiss well...”.

Theon's eyes shone with a vermillion need.

“I do.”, he licks Robb's lips, slowly, the pulls them with his teeth, making Robb emit a low-pitched moan.

Theon rubs his groin against Robb's, moving slowly, making sure his movements are also inviting Robb's hand to clench stronger. He can feel his blood pooling in his groin, while Robb hides behind his thick auburn curls to try to not show how affected he is.

But the reaction, oh, Theon can feel it against his own, hard and undeniable.

Crimson sparks in their minds and takes away everyone else. 

“Can we...maybe... go to the bathroom?”, Robb asks with his voice now tense by arousal.

“I've a better idea.”, Theon says as he pulls Robb by the arm and leads him beyond the crowd, behind doors.

When they arrive in the back room, Theon turns and smiles, he looks a tad bit too drunk and Robb feels a sting piercing his heart.

He has no choice. And yet he has to ask.

“Do you...?”

Theon already catches his lips in his own and steals himself a kiss, letting his tongue court Robb's wet cave. 

He smirks, nervous, “Do you?”

Robb raises Theon by his waist and puts him against a dark old sofa, which stinks of alcohol and has some holes in the covering, but he doesn't care right then. And he should think Theon knows this room for he had surely brought a girl here at least once, but right then it does not matter.

Because he can't tie Theon down. He is not his to keep.

He can just steal one night, one night of pleasure and love for them both to behave like it never happened.

He starts kissing Theon's neck tenderly, his breath is hot and tickles, as he leaves gentle little kisses on Theon's skin. He lets him down, lets love tear down his defences and skin. 

He smiles, thinking about how Robb's breath doesn't smell too much like alcohol, and thank god, because then he can stop thinking about how much his Robb needed to be intoxicated to kiss him.

How unlovable he feels, as he drowns in that thought.

Robb sinks his teeth in Theon's neck, suddenly, he bites and sucks, rough, and Theon lets out a series of gasped moans. He feels like a hungry wolf, starving, sucking life out of him.

It feels good as the sting of the blood quickly bruises on the pale skin.

Robb is marking him.

_What a child, to mark a toy he doesn't want_ ; Theon thinks.

Then he can hear his own voice high and unravelled in a loud moan, when, while sucking still his neck, Robb unzips Theon's jeans and starts touching his stiffed shaft.

He flushes in surprise. Robb whispers grunts into his ear and starts moving his hand faster and harder, making Theon gasp for air.

He can feel the warmth of Robb’s hand, its strength, his touch leaving him panting and needy as one of the girls he always found silly. He is overloaded by the sensation crushing his mind all around, he can't properly think anymore, while his whole lenght throbs against Robb's palm and begs for more, swelling with heat and need.

He feels dizzy with desire. Giving up control was not so bad after all, not with Robb.

He doesn't need to hide or prove himself a man.

He is no judge, he is no father, he is no belt smashed against his hands. He is his pack, his shield and his home.

Theon kisses Robb's ear, caresses his back, searches for him on his lips; and Robb does, kissing him again, in the tenderest of greed and the sweetest of voracity.

His fingers run over him, finally feeling him, after years of touching casually, cautiously, now he could keep him, touch him, feel him, body against body and soul into soul. 

Robb stops and takes off his shirt, showing his sculpted muscles, the painted lines of the abdomen. Theon had seen it a thousand times but now, now he could touch. Explore them, feel them.

His eyes lower to Robb's jeans, tight on his engorged cock, showing the line of his erection, pulling in a hill of fabric. Theon licks and bites his lips when Robb starts pulling them down, together with his boxers. He pants a bit, his cheeks flushing, as he, himself, notices how hard he already is- and how hungrily Theon is staring at him. He swears he could eat him up in one bite.

Robb returns to him and starts kissing Theon's chest, his collarbones, quickly, but intensely, with a haste charged with greed. He opens Theon's shirt, making it’s buttons pop and fall, then opens his jeans, unzipping them and taking them off.

His head spins as Robb starts rubbing their erections together, throbbing and pulsing. He feels hard and scorching; his voice is smouldering and hoarse as he grunts and moans over him and Theon bites his lips and kisses him too deep.

His nails trace trenches on Robb's back, as his voice lowers and gets darker.

Their skins rub and electricity melts in their veins, runs through their spines, unravelling their bones and strength. 

Theon suffocates harder moans as he can feel their heads touch and rub, each time making the air hotter and harder to breathe. He sees Robb’s stomach tighten with arousal and his arms showing his tense veins. 

All around them is red fire and Theon feels it raw in his lungs.

Robb is starting to find it harder and harder to stick to just rubbing, to limit himself to thrusts that don't go inside. Theon can feel the other’s cock swollen in arousal, big against his, about to burst.

His nails sink into the flesh of Robb's back, making him growl, in pain and need. Robb throws his head back, curls moving from his face that’s dewy in sweat, red with constricted pleasure. His voice has gotten hoarse and rough, his fingers pin down Theon wrists and he stares into his eyes with a question he can't bring himself to ask.

Theon can feel the pressure on his wrists, the dense pooling of heat in his crotch, the flames scattered all around his skin where Robb was rubbing and touching.

Theon tries to focus on his face muscles strongly enough to smirk, smugly, and lick his lips.

“Want to go inside?”

Robb gives a low whistle and tries to answer, but he can't seem to focus nor to stop his hips from rubbing against Theon like a horny dog. He has to keep rubbing and he sucks his lips trying to impose his loins to stop, uselessly.

“I- I think we both need to come once before. I wouldn't last much.”

Theon smiles, bites his bottom lip with his pointy white teeth, and then rises to Robb, cups his face between his hands and kisses him deeply. His tongue invades Robb’s mouth, he bites his lips, he pulls him closer.

Robb moans into his mouth and Theon drinks it all eagerly.

He smiles into the kiss and moves his hips too, letting his erection rub against Robb's pulsating one, makes their heads touch and electrify their veins, searches for a rhythm and observes it building in Robb's panting.

Theon grins in victory and licks Robb's quivering lip, as he enjoys seeing him moving, more and more desperately, closer and closer. He moves and takes both their cocks in his hand, starting to jerk them off, rough and fast, and Robb comes undone against his hand, shattering pearly cum all over their stomachs. 

Embarrassment paints itself on Robb's face, and he swallows, “I..god, I'm so-”

Robb knew he couldn't ask himself to last long his first time, but it was Theon and Theon was such... a libertine. He probably found him so silly. He panics a bit, imagining him making all kinds of jokes, maybe being disappointed, maybe finding him a kid....

“It's okay. - Theon almost laughs and kisses him – You feel good.”

“Do I?”

Theon nods, kissing Robb's jawline, his stubble starting to rise, his Adam's apple. He sucks on it and Robb feels his lower parts getting hard again.

But before-

“Can I... suck you?”

Theon blinks. Hell, that was straight-forward and  _damn_ if he didn’t like it.

“If you... want to...”

He can't even finish what he was about to say when Robb is down on him, opening his legs and kissing his inner thighs, gently and passionately. Theon can feel the brushed touch of the stubble against his skin and sucks his lips in anticipation.

Robb's tongue feels warm and soft, as it starts running on Theon's shaft, before slowly, then eager, greedy. He seems to be studying Theon, to take note of which points make him shiver and writhe, how loud he moans, how white his knuckles get while holding the sofa sheets at every lick Robb gives.

He torments its veins, big with pulsing desire, lingers on the crown of flesh before the tip, courting it with his tongue. Theon suffocates a moan and gasps loudly when Robb reaches the head and sucks it, mercilessly, feeding on it, banqueting on his quivery wriggling.

Robb's mouth is big and warm and feels like slik. Theon can feel his cock needing to shoot, to shoot in that sweet tender hell and fill it.

Robb's eyes shine in a hungry gleam and he takes all of Theon inside his mouth, head to base, sucking. Theon shouts, arches his back and his hips move, thrusting mindlessly.

It feels good, unbelievably, ridiculously good.

Robb's hands keep caressing Theon's sack and his legs, while his mouth is driving him crazy, slowly swallowing Theon's taste, sucking him, then licking the head, then taking him back in and moving up and down. 

Theon's lips spill blood and curses, moans come unravelled, melted and wet, raining over them.

He can't stop himself and pushes Robb's head down, keeps him there and moves faster, thrusting into his mouth, fucking his throat until his sight goes blurry with pleasure. He feels Robb moaning and sucking harder at seeing Theon so close, so needy.

His fingers pull his hair and his thrusts get quicker and clumsier but Robb doesn't seem to care.

Seeing him so beyond the edge, so undone, is making him harder than before.

Theon is fucking his mouth, moaning and begging for his tongue to make him come and Robb never felt so drunk with power in his life. Theon is begging him, Theon is needing him, Theon is searching for pleasure in him.

Not anyone else.

No girl with a tiny waist and big boobs.

He sucks his dick stronger, feeling it throbbing against his walls, ready to burst – the heat, the wetness, the softness are driving Theon beyond any control. 

When Robb moves his hand towards Theon, he doesn't really expect him to jump on it, lick it, lapping the fingers, then sucking them slowly. But Theon does, eyes closed, desire driving him into being shameless, slutty, and as Robb takes out his fingers from Theon's moaning mouth, he needs to summon all his self-control.

He can feel Theon being closer and closer, his thrust getting heretical, uncoordinated, quick from desperation, then slow in tiredness, and Robb doesn't mean to leave him in frustration. He moves away his mouth, letting the red swollen penis slip out of it and licking its head, slowly, jus with the tip of his tongue, making Theon shiver and almost scream.

He circles it slowly, laps it well, painting the forlorn, frenzied tip with ruthless care.

Theon suddenly becomes quiet, biting his lip as he is keeping all his lustful moans in and getting frantic with closeness. Robb takes him in again and pushes his wet fingers into Theon's orifice, making him scream, wriggle hastily and, finally, come, filling his mouth in thick cum.

Theon pants, his eyes half-lidded, his hips still writhing.

He can feel his now oversensitive tip almost burning with pleasure.

Robb swallows all of Theon's juice and licks his lips, without even considering how delightfully obscene he may look. Theon's lungs struggle to breathe and his face feels almost heated up. He moves to Robb and kisses him all over his lips, insinuating his tongue and catching him again in an intense kiss. 

Ah, he hates himself, he hates how by then he can feel in his bones and each of his cells that no, he won't be able to be satiated by one night and no, there was no such a thing as enough Robb Stark to survive a life without him.

He kisses and bites and wants him close.

If shadows let light in do they disappear, though?

They melt into nothing and cease to be.

He feels that in a way, letting Robb take him would indeed be suicide, emotionally, but he can't stop- he can't rationalize, he can't say stop and move away and give up his chance to feel them being one.

He can't nor does he want to.

Robb caresses the long silky black hair and pulls him closer by the nape, sinking into the kiss, trying to forget the clock following them, stalking their moves, like a curse with their glass-slipper hearts.

Robb feels an “I love you” rolling from his chest and shatter in the silence, swallowed and muted.

Theon feels an “I love you” burning his lungs and extinguishing itself in the light he can't show.

So they don't say anything, they follow raw lines drawn by their hickeys and cum, they follow the road that leads to each other in a way or another.

Because their cage is all the safety they have.

Theon moves closer and opens his legs more – as Robb stares at him, motionless and ecstatic – and licking his fingers prepares himself. He pushes in the first finger and bites his lips at the annoying friction, he put the second and starts to feel better, as he moves them inside and outside, letting his flesh adapt and crave more.

Robb looks shy, as if he were on the verge of a precipice, wondering if he could fly.

He moves slowly, prudently, he can feel Theon so tight around him that pushing through is hard. But it's warm and Theon opens his mouth, breathing in and he smiles, feeling good as his muscles stretch and welcome Robb inside him. He moves against him, working himself into deepening it and as he feels Robb filling him, thick, big, taking space inside him and claiming him, he can't help but want more.

He wants Robb inside, further than everything, so that a trace of him would always be near him, carved in his flesh and unable of being erased.

And if Robb can't belong to him, then he will.

He moans louder, as Robb pushes in beyond the tip with a first, strong, thrust. God, it feels good.

It's different from taking, from marching in girls, piercing and feeling their hot insides clench against his cock. No, now he is at Robb's mercy and so is his pleasure.

He has to be taken, he has to give up. Robb may break him at any moment, pushing too strong, taking it too deep, and he is just going to be there, touched, used, not forgotten. He is possessed.

Robb thrusts deeper and Theon screams, arching his back, half-pleasured half-in pain, feeling every muscle of his back tensing. And Robb sees him tremble and for a moment he meditates to stop, to go out.

But inside Theon it’s hot, incredibly hot, ardent and soft and he never felt like this.

He can feel Theon all around him, he can feel that scorching cave swallowing him and its velvety walls beg him for more. He thrusts harder, holds Theon by his hips and takes him down, closer, penetrating him almost completely in one harsh, strong hit.

Theon almost scoots over, clenches the sofa and chokes a scream in a low moan.

He is hard again, fully, and it stands against Robb's stomach, rubbing perky. As he looks down, he notices Robb went in almost completely and can't avoid feeling a weird arousal about being able to take him in so well.

A wide smile rise on his lips, with a satisfied smirk.

Robb's hand tightens the grip on Theon's hips, making his movements faster, rougher. Theon's eyes roll to the ceiling, while he bites his bottom lip not to shout again, squirming with every thrust Robb gives, pushing through his flesh and opening him in two.

He can feel himself breaking under the pressure, he can feel Robb pushing and taking all the space he needs to sink in him fully.

He arches his back and sticks his tongue out like a lustful dog, when Robb finally does enter fully and he can feel his balls slamming against his tense asshole.

Theon breathes out slowly, shivers of electricity rise from his back and ass, even now that Robb seems to take a moment before moving, to let him adapt, Theon imagines, wrongly.

Robb right then is mostly trying to calm down and not break him. Because, fuck, that feels like heaven.

Theon's flesh is all around his cock, smouldering, filled with fire, and pulsing and it seems to be holding onto his erection. Every friction, with every movement, Theon's ass seems to beg him to stay inside. And the sounds Theon is making, so lascivious and lecherous, like molten golden pleasure – the more he made the more he felt like slamming and slamming, making him scream.

He wanted to mark Theon deeper than just in his flesh.

He wanted Theon to not be able to fuck a woman ever again, nor a man, anyone, he wanted to be the only person he could think about.

Just like Theon always was the only one he could think about.

His hands left Theon's hips, with a last caress of his Iliac crest, shining under the fake light, and went to Theon's legs, forcing the other to open them more and twisting them slightly so they'd be on Theon's chest. Finally managing to have his movements freer, he moves again, sinking roughly.

Theon is left voiceless.

When Robb returns to moving in and out, he can barely breathe with a strong sensation burning inside him. Something, something is going on fire.

He moves slightly, adjusting, raising his ass enough for Robb to push even more directly in and he has to bite his arm not to melt in a lustful undignified whine. But as the first muffled sound comes out, Robb's hand gets harder on him and he thrusts deeper.

At every push, Theon squirms, his muscles powerless and the nerves on the verge of an overload.

Robb is slamming into something and it's like a button to paradise- he makes Theon droll, his tongue roll out, his voice high-pitched and desperately lewd.

He holds onto his back, scratches, tries to hold him down, but it's useless; Robb has no plan on stopping the sight he waited for for years: Theon Greyjoy rolling in absolute utter pleasure under his cock.

Robb slams again and again, banging, merciless, into the point that is driving Theon insane and feels his cock getting harder at Theon's shaking, begging, with his toes arched and tensed. His knuckles are white, his voice black – he can feel every inch of his body torn open and that warm electricity exhaustingly tormenting him at every thrust with absolute bliss, each time stronger.

Every part of his body was inundated by waves of pleasure.

He shouts, his voice dry and red, and comes on Robb's stomach and chest.

Robb bends and kisses him, moving still into him, invading his mouth with his tongue, while he pierces his ass and, with another thrust, comes into him. He empties himself with a low growl, which he buries in Theon's mouth.

It takes them a moment to move and return to breathing.

Theon can still feel Robb inside him, going soft, and the warm sperm into him.

He feels good, all his muscles done and powerless.

Until a thought creeps from inside his heart and poisons the after taste and makes it sour, dark.

He came from his ass, form just being fucked, like a woman.

Just like a girl.

Air leaves his lungs for a moment as he looks around, searching for a way out – his hole stings and burns, Robb keeps kissing him but he feels like puking.

That's not what he wanted to be.

What would his father say?

From being fucked.

“Everything okay?”, Robb asks, his voice weak and hoarse.

“Yes. - Theon lies, trying to wash the horrid thought away from his head – I... I'm fine.”

Robb's hand on his cheek feels cold and strange.

He bows closer for a kiss and Theon moves his head, licks his lips and stands up, searching for his jeans.

And Robb knows his heart is now hollow and dull.

All his life fell out at once.

Theon give shim a smirk and his usual nervous fake laugh, “I have to go now.”

Did he scare him away?

Did he lose him forever?

His wax wings came undone to pieces and he drowns in the sea alone, buried in salt and in the colour of Theon's eyes.

“Where are you going?”

Theon laughs, a bit too hard, a bit too forced, he wants to hide the red in his pupils as he dresses up again.

“Drinking.”

Robb swallows and tries to smile too, “You're already drunk.”

Theon sucks his lips and goes out of the room, “Ditto.”

As the door slams and darkness fills the space, Robb tries to learn to breathe again. He coughs and the coughs become metallic laughs and the laughs melt into tears.

The sofa stinks like them, his naked skin fills with icy shivers and his lungs and soul are covered in bruises.

He hides his face in his hands and lets out a million little pieces of words unsaid in the form of dense and salty tears.

So many years of keeping it together, shielding it all, playing it off fine, and then... then for once he let it all out for once that he did not worry about the consequences... for one, fucking time.

He crushes and curls up.

He doesn't even know what terrifies him more: thinking he scared Theon away or wondering if Theon was just so drunk he didn't get what they did after all, supposing he thought about him as the one hundredth one night stand.

And he knows, he does, that Theon was fragile and tender after all, that he probably overdid somehow.

Maybe Theon was simply too drunk... he wouldn't have hurt him willingly.

After all, he was the one that had been faking being tipsy, he was the sober one throwing himself into that shitty idea. He was the one that, god, god, he was the one making the first step.

He can't blame Theon now.

He can't blame his straight, drunk, best friend for not doing whatever he actually subtly unconsciously expected in his heart.

He can't. He can't blame him if he can't breathe and tears and laughs taste the same and inside him he feels a sucking void.

He just has to pretend, he figures, biting his lips. To pretend he doesn't remember anything of that night.

So they can both forget.

So he can try to pretend it was a dream and that, for once, for once in his life, even if just for less than an evening, he got what he wanted.

As he puts his jeans on, he reaches out for his mobile. Three lost calls, ten texts.

 

Jon: Hey umh Arya called me she can't find you

Jon: I'm arriving at the place, please search for Arya and Sansa so we can all get home!

Jon: Sansa is crying like a fountain, what happened and where are you???

Jon: ARE U WITH THEON GREYJOY AND YOU DROPPED OUR SISTERS ARE YOU SERIOUS ROBB WTF

Jon: … no okay that's not like you please tell me you are alright 

Jon: I'm worried pls answer

Jon: I'm driving Arya and Sansa home, please when you see these texts call me.

Jon: we are home where are you?

Jon: Robb, Im trying not to freak out but its kinda hard, please call me I need to know you are alright

Jon: hey Theon just called me saying to come pick you up at the club cause you are drunk???? were you there all of this time??? wait for me at the exit, I'm coming asap

 

Robb breathes in as he swings over Jon's number with his finger, calling him.

“Robb! I was jackshit worried! Where are you?”

“I- I am in the back of the place-”

“What? What the hell where you doing there?”, Jon almost laughs.

Robb can't reply and silence gets thick and clear.

“...Robb, what were you doing in the back of the club with Theon?”  
“We- emh-”

Jon sighs so deeply Robb can almost feel it, “Did you tell him how you feel about him at least?”

“... it was just a one night thing, Jon, I don't feel like talking about it.”

“Wait, you had sex and you didn't tell him you love him?”

“Jon. - Robb feels a weird anger riding his head – He is straight.”

“Is he? You fucked.”

“He was drunk...”

“Call me old-fashioned but I don't sleep with people I'm not attracted to when drunk.”, Jon half-jokes.

Robb hesitates.

A little hope shines through but he is so afraid to light it up.

Because hope can be crushed so easily and he was so tired of hoping for nothing.

“I said I was drunk too...”

Jon chuckles a bit, “You two are the ultimate telenovela.”

“It's not funny, Jon.”

“No, it's not, because you are losing chances of being happy just to protect yourself. - Jon sighs and listens to Robb sniffing so so slightly, trying to hide how upset he actually is – You two should just try to speak... maybe he is straight but you are his exception, maybe he is bisexual, maybe you will never know if you are not honest.”

“I'm not good at speaking about how I feel.”

“I know, that's why you are mom's favourite.”

Robb frowns, “Sansa is her favourite.”

Jon shakes his head, “I'm coming there, okay? We'll go somewhere to get a hot coffee.”

“...thank you.”

“Robb.”  
“Yes?”  
“He is a jerk, but you are important to him.”, he says, before closing the call.

Robb starts to laugh again in a bitter sharp groan, exiting the place at once, letting the cold, wet air of the rainy night crush on his face and spit darkness.

He waits for cars to pass and for the rain to drown the concrete, while music blasts behind him.

His hands tremble, his heart is tightened.

Maybe Jon is right, after all, maybe he should just confess to Theon, tell him how he feels and let Theon decide.

Maybe there was hope for them.

Maybe there was not but Theon wouldn't have abandoned him.

Maybe both Jon and Sansa were right in telling him to just be honest and face it... but it was such a hazard.

He was not made for those, he was made of thinking and reflecting and questioning and trying to make everything fit together and then things didn't fit and he lost pieces and he wanted things to be fine and in harmony and to work out. He wanted things to be happy.

And then he realizes, he wants to be happy too.

He wants to try to be happy and he wants Theon and maybe... maybe Theon needs to know.

He takes out of the pocket his mobile.

 

Robb: We need to talk Theon please call me when you can

 

He puts it back and closes his eyes, nodding to himself and trying to calm himself down. He needs a tin to kick, a stone, something.

Then that ring tone starts.

Robb sighs, exasperated.

“Talk Dirty” aka “The ringtone Theon Greyjoy self-memorized for himself after stealing Robb's mobile and which Robb never changed for reasons he still ignored” blasts in the air, making Robb regret having the sound on for a solid twenty seconds.

“Aren't you still drunk?”, he laughs a bit, relieved still.

“He collapsed, so I would say so.”

Robb blinks, “Asha?”

“Yup, the little rascal called me before, he was drunk and half-slipping between two trashcans, he said he was between his own kind and I threw him in my car.”

“I'm so sorry... is he fine?”

“He is not gonna be if he pukes in my car.”, she comments, annoyed, yet with a tender undertone.

Robb smiles, “Please, spare his life, I need him alive.”

“I'll try to consider it! But I’m not making any promises.”

“I appreciate the commitment...”

Asha seems to take a moment before asking, reluctantly, “... did something happen? He looked pretty upset.”

“I- we had a discussion, sorta.”

“I hope nothing bad. - she chuckles, trying to hide her kindness – He is a bit of a pain in the ass, but this shy kid truly cherishes you.”

Robb smiles and hides a bit his face, “It's the same for me, don't worry.”

“Oh, _I know_.”, she says, enigmatically and knowingly.

“Listen, can I ask you for a favour?”

“Sure?”

“Do you think you could ask Theon to meet me tomorrow morning? - he tries to collect all his courage as he speaks – I need to tell him something really important.”

Asha smiles, looking at her sleeping brother snoring on the seat next to her.

“I'll make sure of it, don't worry.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer : In this fanfic, I opted for a bisexual Asha, while knowing she is canonically straight, but so is Robb technically and even more technically Theon, so let's pretend it makes sense. :D

* * *

 

5\. Rain pours, milk and honey stain your skin

* * *

 

“Don't fuck it up.”, Asha recommends, firmly.

Theon rises an eyebrow, confused, “Fuck up  _what_ ?”

“If he wants to meet you so urgently, it means it's something important. - she seems more excited than him and this stings her a bit – And yesterday you looked so upset and drunk... you had a spat, it happens, but he seems to have important news. - she smirks and moves her head suggestively – Maybe it's really good news.”

“Or... maybe... it isn't?”, Theon suggets with a sarcastic pitch.

Asha shrugs and takes a big bite of her pancakes. Theon stares at them vaguely disgusted, his head and stomach still trying to regain strength after yesterday's drinking.

Once he left Robb, he did in fact go to the bar, get a whole bottle of gin and sat drinking it outside with the trash cans as companions. Now, thinking about it, probably a homeless person found the rest of the bottle and had a very happy evening.

Theon hopes for some good karma of provoking someone a very intensely wished for liver failure.

“We always meet, and yesterday was nothing special. - he lied with an oblique smile and a slanting heart – You are seeing too hard into stuff.”

Asha crosses her arms and stares at him, in-between slightly offended and proudly convinced of her reasons. 

“You two are so easy to read, you'd be first grade material, but apparently, you both are also hopelessly illiterate. - she steals a big slice of Theon's pancakes and munches it – One would hope you'd grow up at a certain point.”

“One would hope you'd stop big sistering a hopeless case, but here you are.”

Asha sticks her tongue out.

As she stands up to clean, Theon's eyes fall on her boobs, bit too big for her little waist. He wonders if he would look like that, had he been born a girl.

Wouldn't that have made things with Robb easier?

How many fears avoided, how many doubts erased – he, well she, could have seduced him easily and without harsh grips of ice tilting his heart and soul.

He would have had Robb.

One night, two, three – until satisfied, until all of his body tasted and smelled like him. Until swallowing Robb beyond bones.

Having him.

He wouldn't have needed tricks, and alcohol, and using one night as an eternal memory and carving names into his flesh and begging for hickeys and bitemarks to never disappear.

Being eaten by the wolf, piece by piece, over every night, until the end of time; that would have been his paradise.

He looks so much like Asha, he wonders if Robb ever noticed – he wonders if Robb would have wanted to fuck her. He wonders if he will fall in love with a nice brunette like Jeyne or that Maergery girl who keeps flocking around him any time she visits Sansa.

“Theon.”

“Hm?”

“Staring at my boobs won't make you seem more heterosexual.”, she sips coffee, unimpressed.

“I don't need to seem something I am.”, he half-yells, standing up and getting his backpack.

Asha raises an eyebrow, “You are or you think Robb is?”

“I like girls! I thought fucking them was enough of an evidence for it!”

“...bisexuality is a thing?”, she blinks, a bit amused, half-pointing at herself.

Theon groans, “Yeh, sure le'ts play the bisexual siblings, want me to hang out at pride with you? Let me pour glitter on my hair!”

“...maybe you could bring your boyfriend.”

“Robb is very much straight, Asha, not everyone is as open about holes and fillers as you are.”

Theon seems on the verge of getting really worked up and Asha couldn't have waited for a better invitation to kick the door down.

“I didn't name Robb. - she smirks, smug – Also are you basing your assumptions again on evidences like... fucking girls?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“...does he even look at girls? - Asha asks – Did he ever have a crush or even stared at a pair of knockers?”

Theon seems to shut up for a moment, confused, tempted by a thought, by hope, then he shakes his head.

“Robb is... he likes Kyra.”

“Oh, _please_! - Asha laughs – Like does she even seem like someone Robb Stark would consider dating?”

“He has me as a bestfriend, I don't think Kyra as a girlfriend is so unpredictable.”

“Which issues do you feed, I wonder.”

Theon sighs and groans, “I don't know, which issues does the girl you fucked last month in my car feed?”

“...well, I can tell you what she fed me, but I grant you I pretty much fed myself on her.”

Theon stiffs, “I didn't want to know that!”

“Oh, c'mon, you asked me at thirteen what fisting was!”

“I don't want to discuss sex and Robb in the same minute, okay?”

“How shy. - she chuckles, amused – Are you thinking about him in that context?”

“I'm not a faggot, clear?”

“You're just a redheaded-sexual then?”

“Fuck off. - he goes out of the kitchen, storming, embarrassed up to the tip of his hair, except returning a couple of seconds later, shouting – Robb is not gay and he is not going to declare his love or anything like that!”

“...I never suggested that?”

“You implied it.”

“No. - she has a wide , satisfied smile – But it's nice to see that's where your mind went, baby brother.”

“Fuck you!”

“You didn't tell me what you do not plan to reply to him!”, she sings happily as Theon exits the kitchen again.

As the door slams, she smiles more tenderly, wondering if there is a chance, after all, that he will decide to be happy. That he will be honest with himself about who he is.

Not because of his sexuality, no, that mattered very little to Asha.

Sex is fun, sex is adventurous and tortuous and drunk.

Theon aimed for something a little different... to feel again arms around him, kind and welcoming like the warm walls of a house.

And the fact is when your home is a person, the more you wait to tell them, the more you risk them to welcome in their heart someone else. And it's not the kind of homelessness one can easily get over.

Asha sips her coffee, that cools down, getting a thick sour after taste.

She wonders what would their mother say to her baby son. 

Would she caress his hair and whisper to him that all is okay, that their father can be a jerk but he is fine whatever way he is? Would she tell him to be bold and proud, as she did to her? Or would she shield the shy, tender heart and tell him to find a shield in someone else?

Her fingers caress the table cloth, the ruined cotton and the colours gone pale with time; and Asha can remember the days when Rodrik and Maron would scream and throw milk on the table and throw the ball and she would yell at them to stop and take the ball from them... and Theon, Theon used to just draw in the corner of the table, with his little hands holding a too big for him pencil and the piece of paper seemed like a sheet, and he would seem so scared when Maron took the drawing away and Rodrik made fun of it.

He would cry.

And she... she would just tell him to reply to them.

He never did.

And she never really protected him – she lost her right to be a big sister, after all, for how much it burnt to see her little Theon dwell and roll in a bottomless pit of misery.

It bit her guts and set her on fire with pain.

Theon runs on the road wet from night rain, and the asphalt sends out the fresh scent of it still. Birds don't sing and the silence gets interrupted and scratched by cars riding by slow. Trees' green melts against the blue sky and Theon feels his heart drenched in a light sensation, light filters through the leaves and leaves him wondering if that could be a good day, after all.

He still has inside his muscles, beyond his skin, a memory of Robb's taste.

It was sweet, in a way, yet also salty for the sweat.

Theon can feel it haunting his tongue and burning it, like embers of an old perfect fire, inviting him to pyromania, to dance in the flames and in them find a blissful destruction.

What is Robb to tell him, after all?

That he loves him? That he hates him? That he does not remember? That he does?

In a way, Theon knows no objection to any of those scenarios, because he knows for how hurt he may get, his heart won't falter, flutter nor hesitate.

He knows, because he tried to forget and change. For an awful long time.

And he could not manage, he could not find a way out of that black hole of silly happiness given by a smile and stupid sadness coming from sudden awareness.

He arrives at the Stark House and tries to pull one of his fake smiles, but he can't, because he is not sure how to manage to pretend, now that he has Robb under his skin, now that he knows how it feels and what he actually wants.

Now that his hands had touched him, how can he find the strength to deny that touch again?

Now that he had binged on heaven, how should he return to a human meal?

He was so sure of being able to reduce himself to one time, of being able to put a stop on it, to control himself and to slap his own hand's back to obedience like a good trained dog; but, instead, there he is, with his heart tilted and pending from words he doesn't dare to imagine fully.

The tree that climbs the wall, arriving at Robb's window is all like his heart: all entwined and distorted, retorted and needy with little thin black branches drinking up sunlight like beasts of the night that could never be full of it.

Sometimes it would bear cascades of lilac small flowers and Robb and his brothers would munch on them and claim they are sweet.

Theon always found them awful.

But he always smiled and munched them with Robb, hoping that having the same taste in their mouths would have been enough. And it was, for a while.

But now he knew, he knew what Robb actually tastes like, how kissing him is, how their mouths meeting and melting feels.

And now enough is a deleted concept.

All he knows is hunger and hunger is blind and tiring and saddening.

Hunger is dark.

*

That morning, Robb wakes up possessed by a feverish enthusiasm and electric energy rides his nerves and veins, fuelling him.

He rushes to the shower as soon as he is in fact awake and sings under it, whistling and half-dancing with his head. He has a weird smile stretching from one cheek to the other and it seems glued so well that he doesn't realize he is wearing it and he can't seem to shake it off.

He rolls under his tongue songs about love and how blue the sky is and how good life and all that cheesy stuff that always seemed so far away from his own reality, so impossible to relate to.

But here he is, unexpectedly.

He showers himself with hope and he roots his convictions more and more with the minutes passing: all is going to be fine, Theon was really into it, Theon liked him, or well maybe he could and what’s stopping them from trying? And he fills and fills his mind with words he repeats and he sows little chances and he repeats until he really does feel safe.

He needs to be confident, he realizes that, because if he hesitates, Theon won't understand how serious he is, for how long and how deeply he waited and how that night was no drunk mistake.

It was meant to happen, he feels.

It was meant to happen so he could realize how silly waiting is and how painful denial won't change the fact he does need his love to meet the sunlight.

He thinks all of that and keeps himself tight together.

He is not sure how to present it to Theon, though, and he has a long revelation about all those sequences in teenage movies in which the character changes their clothes 30 times because nothing seems good enough: it was the truth.

He tries all his band T-shirts, then abandons all of them, he goes to squared flannel shirts - “maybe looking as straight as possible will calm him” - to a black tight v-neck and a pair of skinny jeans so tight he could feel his butt cheeks being forcefully separated one from the other - “maybe looking as gay as Elton John will in fact make him see I'm sure of it” - to a normal white shirt that, though, he puts back almost immediately and even denim can't make him change his mind.

He wonders if he should wear his old Han Solo cosplay at that point, maybe it will be more dignified that anything else he has in the room.

He sighs, then decides to go for the v-neck with a normal, comfy pair of jeans.

Then he goes in front of the mirror inside his wardrobe and starts trying, “Hi, Theon, umh, hey, you know last night? I remember it! I was not drunk, I just wanted to make out with... no, okay, too direct... Theon, I was wondering, like, not that I do remember what happened, but if I did, if we both did.. do you think we might... no, too cryptic. Okay, okay, Robb, calm the fuck down, you can do this, you can surely do this. - he pauses, his pupils restrict in panic – Oh no, I can't, I can't.. Okay, cool blood, Robb, cool blood. - he stares at himself in the mirror, finds only doubt, his hand trembles, tired – What am I doing? Am I risking it all for... for what?”

He sighs and looks away, his eyes falling on the frame he has on the desk.

Jon insisted on having a photo with both of them; neither Robb nor Theon protested, although they both found it weird that he wanted Theon in a photo with him. In that same afternoon, Jon put it in a frame which half-covered his face, and told Robb, “Who wouldn’t want a photo of themself with their arm around their crush's shoulders?”

Ever since he had started having feelings for Theon formulating clear and loud in his head, since he couldn't deny to himself it being love, it was harder and harder for Robb to have photos of them together: he always felt as if he was lying to Theon about how he saw those pictures.

And then Jon, without asking nor claiming, did it.

Now that photo was at least a year old.

Robb looks at it, smiling, tentatively and wondering. He can see again his reflection, this time right over Theon's face.

He looks at the mirror again, clenching his fists, “I should have said it before, I know, but I didn't want to ruin out friendship or lose you, and yesterday night gave me hope... it makes me feel like it won't end like that. I wasn't drunk, Theon, I wasn't not thinking. I love you.”

He says it all in one breath and then he stops and gets air again.

It sounded better and Robb smiles, half-proud half-terrified: he has a confession speech, but now he has to make it.

He breathes in and looks at the clock, calculating mentally if he does have the time for some music that might push him to have more courage – because people know that's what guitars were invented for – or at least to relax. But then a small whine catches his attention: it's Lady.

He goes out of his room and finds Grey Wind scratching Sansa's bedroom door, trying to get to his own sister for a comfort session.

“Sansa, is all okay? - he receives only a mumbled soft whine as answer, so he leans on the door – Pads?”

“No...”

“...Joffrey?”

Sansa opens the door, weakly. Her eyes are swollen and all her eyelids red and puffy. She has big streaks of wet on her cheeks, like she cried all night.

“...what happened?”

She smiles forcefully and shakes her head, “Joffrey, as you said.”

Robb caresses her hair, worried, with a tender haste of protection rising in his heart. He holds her close and pets her soft locks.

“He is an idiot and you deserve better.”

Sansa smiles, “Does it matter what you deserve when you know what you want?”

And he doesn't know what he should say: because he knows she is right, because he knows that love has very little to do with just and with deserving, and yet what is he supposed to tell her as her brother? He obviously can't let her simply think that hanging onto feelings for a cruel brat would be good, he can't let her think that is the love she should put all her effort and faith into.

“You know, rarely the first love is the real one. - he pauses, hesitates – Look at mom and dad, she was... uncle's girlfriend before.”

“Fair enough. - she fakes a laugh, trying to act like it doesn't bother her, trying not to nit-pick and cherish only the kindness of those words and not their unwanted irony, but bitter feelings come back like the mane of the waves with the tides and her bottom lip quivers – But then again, look at you with Theon...”

Robb frowns, “I doubt you could define me his first love, even by far.”

She chuckles and breaks the hug, she pets Robb's curls, “A fetish for redheads, no?”

“Maybe I'm part of it.”

“Or the origin. - she shrugs her shoulders and Robb notices she gets colder – I suppose in a way, he also always searches for you. Nobody else suffices.”

“...are we... still speaking about Theon and me?”

“Yes, we are.”

It comes off harsh and sharp as a dagger, which she soon regrets, closing in, her shoulders making her look smaller and thinner, like a squirrel as winter ends and it faces the sun’s glistering outside it’s trunk.

“I'm sorry... I just feel a bit jealous, I guess.”

Robb shields himself from a quick thought that creeps from behind, caresses his mind and sits in the shadow of his fears, lovingly petting them. 

“Jealous of?”

She seems to blush quickly, as she tries to find an excuse. She should say “of happiness” or “of the happy ending”, which is also probably the truth, in a way, but she is so sure her voice will tremble, her words fail and she will be left naked and open.

She doesn't want him to know.

Not after she pushed Theon to go to him, not after Robb finally took a decision, not after their merry-go-round was starting. She plays with her fingers and squeezes them nervously, trying to let out a good word, but at remembering the emptiness that filled the cup of her heart when she realized that kiss didn't mean what fairytales promised her, she couldn't find any strength for more than a whisper.

“You...”

Robb's pupils dilate as if he couldn't fully grasp it. His muscles tense and his heart drowns in the horror of things he was supposed to do.

“I-”

“No, please. - she mumbles, now quickly, as to repair a broken glass, hurrying to catch all the pieces on the ground – It's... nothing. I want you to be happy and...”

But pieces are everywhere.

Little and almost invisible, you can catch a glimpse if the light breaks on them, making them shine, otherwise they stay and hide. They hide in plain sight, they hide under the rug and beyond the curtains, some fall on the food to be eaten and some will stay there, in the corner, for years, and when found one won't remember when they had broken.

Robb shivers and he feels his stomach refusing.

Not again, not again, not always giving up what one wants.

It mattered little what Sansa would say now, which – maybe even right or sensible – points she will have, Robb can only hear his mother and father's voices, asking him to be a good brother, to behave well.

He can only hear those distant voices.

And their arms on his shoulders, like claws and talons, sinking under his skin, squeezing his flesh.

“It's fine.”

“I'm serious. - she promises, caressing his cheek – A crush is nothing compared to years of love, don't let it stop you. I wouldn't even tell you and in a couple months it will be gone.”

She is nice and she really tries to be rational and calm, but her eyes betray sadness and Robb knows how it feels to lie about how you feel while someone else take what you want from your hands.

And more than anything, how can he do that to her?

He nods, “I... I have to eat something, so, I'll go a sec to my room...”, he murmurs, failing at concealing an icy sadness that leaves him numb.

Sansa stays behind, playing with her fingers and cursing her weakness in silence.

She sees her hair falling tenderly on her breast and all she thinks about is how that auburn is the pale reflection of another.

She is the moon.

And she took away the sun out of jealousy.

She trembles and thinks it's no surprise she has not met her prince yet, if she is the witch of the story, and sits on the bed, forcing herself not to cry.

A pale deadly selfishness in her prays to feel elation, but inside her walls, words of promised poetry crumble to pieces and bury her feet.

It takes her some minutes to stand up, but she does, taking with her a little Teddy Bear with a washed off red ribbon and soft golden fur. She holds it dearly and goes to Robb, imagining what to tell him, of how she always felt protected by him, how much he did and how he didn't need to anymore.

It made sense in her head.

But then she finds him staring blankly at the mirror.

His profile is veiled by a strange sadness and yet a familiar sorrow, he looks weak and his skin grey and lightless.

“Yes...?”

“Look. - she smiles, showing the little toy – Remember Mr. Button?”

Robb frowns, questioning and his sister continues, tenderly caressing a memory in her head, “It’s the first thing you gave me. You stopped playing with it and you didn't hesitate to give it to me... Jon would always cry when mom gave his toys to others, but you...”

And then Robb felt thin, knotted and hanged. Darkness took over him and feverishly pinched all his nerves. His face turns sour and anger rides his shoulders, where his parents used to touch to ask him to be good.

He replies, in a dire whisper, “I didn't give it to you because I wanted to, I was not tired of playing with it... you kept crying and crying until I gave it to you! What else was I supposed to do?”

Sansa swallows and stares at the ground.

She can't look at the teddy bear now, she feels as if it went to pieces, as if Robb destroyed it. Which makes no sense because it's there and full and fine.

But now she feels like if she looks at it, it will be like seeing it for the first time, from a new view, and with the ghost of the shattered pieces over it.

It's a bit harder to breathe, now in her lungs doubts of other days and other toys become thick like cotton and she wonders how will air fit.

And then there's a little anger in her, because she did give up Theon, she did – it's her brother's fault for not accepting her decision, isn't it? What else could she do? What else to sacrifice? What has she to give more than her word of how fine she was with her heartache?

“...are we still speaking about Mr. Button?”, she asks, half-mocking.

Robb looks at her as if her words were scorching embers and left the room, going to the kitchen. He can't breathe next to Sansa, he can't find strength to not think about how she would fit into Theon's type but also make him better, she'd be patient and loving and awake the romanticism in him. They'd work.

That's what torments him too: they'd work,

He can't hurt her, he can't do that, and at the same time he wants to, because she took it all, because she could have.

And all he would have left with him was one damn night in the back of The Cave and a song now tasting forever bitter in his mouth. All he would have been left with would have been ruins of kisses and debris of a night of love, rotting at the bottom of his stomach, decomposing in him and making him too dirty and sad and angry.

He can feel hands around his neck, suffocating him, pushing him into the only direction he could take.

The kitchen is white and filled with light and for a moment it gives him a migraine. There was something nauseating in how it all looked fine and nice, while he could barely push himself to think and talk properly.

He walks through it half hunched by sadness, the burden of the hopes fractured heavy on his shoulders. He feels so stupid for having woken up with plans, with will, with a need to be honest and to confess.

Confess, what a stupid term, what a ridiculous idea.

And how nicely and precisely he convinced himself it made sense and that he would have received a yes! How maniacally did he try to ignore the fact Theon did abandon the sofa right after, terrified or uncaring.

He had been really no more than a one night stand, one of the too many in his resumé.

“I love the smell of drama in the morning.”

He turns, and sees his brother, cheeks swollen in cereals half-munched and a big bowl of milk in his hands over the kitchen counter.

“I- I didn't see you, sorry.”

“I would have been surprised if you saw anything. You look like a disaster.”

Bran moves a bit his wheels and moves closer to Robb, who moves to help him. That was a good sign, Bran thought.

Brain raised an eyebrow, sceptical, “Maybe you should try getting angry once in a while.”

“I get angry.”  
“No. - he chirped, putting jam on a toasted piece of bread – You never give in to how you feel, you keep calm and bottle up and, when under stress and unable to do it, you have an outburst over something absolutely ridiculous.”

Robb frowned as if he was asking for proof.

“Six months ago, it was the tug in the wood. You yelled at Theon out of nothing and never apologized, even if you knew he helped me.”

Robb seems ashamed; he pouts slightly and drums his fingers on the table.

“Maybe.”

Bran seems satisfied, “So, maybe, you should confront Sansa about what hurts you, which is not Mr. Button, I believe.”

“Since when are you so wise?”

“I have a very diplomatic brother.”, he says, munching and getting strawberry stains over his nose tip.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, um, another thing. - he pauses – I don't really like Theon, but if you’re angry at him, you should speak to him, don’t give him the silent treatment.”

“I wouldn't have given him the-”

“... you are just like mom sometimes.”

And Robb couldn't really deny that, so he shuts up a bit and enjoys his coffee in silence.

“I'll apologize to Sansa.”  
“You should: she was really worried yesterday. - Bran says – She kept crying when she returned home with Jon. She was truly upset.”

Robb frowns, wondering if Sansa saw him and Theon and that had been the reason of her sadness. But then again she seemed to have reacted well a couple of minutes before and didn't face him about it- so something feels off.

There is a piece of the puzzle that he misses and he still doesn't know what it is.

He feels still part of his glass soul trapped under his fingernails and between the wrinkles of his hands.

He remembers Theon's taste under his kisses, he remembers how much he needed his pulse and his own to melt. He wanted to devour him and he still wants to.

Hunger is glowing.

And his fingers burn with the electricity of that sharp need.

“Robb?”

He meets Theon's eyes, and feels instant relief and sudden fear. 

“Asha said you... wanted to see me so urgently.”, he tries to give his smug smile but it melts into a frightened grimace.

“Can we... go up?”

Theon looks at Bran, seeing how he intensely stares at both of them, “Champ, all fine?”

Bran nods, suspiciously enough, only after seeing Robb giving him a quick approval sign with the head.

Theon smirks a bit, in protection, “Your room?”

Robb gives a courtesy smile, nodding, and goes up the stairs, trying not to look at Theon in the face – he should speak to Sansa and measure the situation and understand what to do before speaking to Theon and he is not sure anymore which words to use or which way to go.

As he thinks about it, Sansa comes down the stairs and they stop at half of it.

She freezes as she sees Theon and Theon does the same.

Their eyes meeting seem to freeze the staircase in ice and Robb looks at both of them, wondering.

Sansa squeezes the wood handrail with terrified shyness, her cheeks painted in a downy dawn pink.

He shows a smile, then, on his charming face, and says hello and she seems to break but nods and replies quickly. She goes down the stairs and goes out in a poorly-hidden haste.

Robb tries to deny how familiar that scene is, how many times it rolled in front of his eyes in a film that never ends.

He opens his room door slowly and when Theon is inside all he can think about is how many times girls he fucked had the same ashamed expression upon meeting his eyes and seeing indifference reflected in the cold pools.

“I... I spoke to Sansa today.”

“Did you call me for this? -Theon seems nervous – I thought you asked yesterday night to...”

“Yes, but... this took priority.”

“Priority over the thing you called me for?”, now he seems desperate, almost angry, betrayed.

Robb forces himself not to look at him and whispers, “She likes you.”

“I know.”

“Oh?”

“I know, it was... pretty clear. - he swallows, still nervous as he feels Robb studying his reaction without giving out any details about how he feels and what he remembers – But she is not really... you know, I wouldn't.”

“I- I don't know, I mean. - a weird metallic laugh rises on his lips – Why wouldn't you? She is pretty and smart and kind and age won't be an issue in some time.”

He speaks out of frustration while his stomach clenches and puke rages at the thought of how good they'd look together. What a beautiful couple, so charming and smiling – like a prince and a princess, holding hands and kissing under the moonlight.

People in the streets would have turned and stared.

And whoever the child would have taken it’s genes from, it would have been beautiful, like a ray of sun melting the snow.

His voice crumbles and runs in stones and sighs and he can't let tears go as he feels his shoulders burn and he wants to catch Theon under his arms and force a kiss from him. He wants to take him again, to fuck him senselessly and see him losing himself under him.

“Are you setting me up with your sister? - he spits in anger, words sharp in his throat cutting it open with horror – That's fucking sick.”  
“Why sick?”

And Theon wants to scream, he wants to shout: we made love yesterday. He wants to carve Robb's face with his words, making his skin crawl and fall, he wants truth to slam in-between his eyes and break to him the memory of that night, the only one he had and could cherish which now Robb was poisoning bit by bit with his denial.

_Because we made love, because we had sex, because I searched for your warmth and you took me in and it was red, it was full dense red and you can't throw me in the blue again_ .

He shuts up and bites his lip.

Robb's hand moves towards him and then he lets it drop.

And that's when Theon knows that Robb does remember, but wants to forget.

And then his knees, bent by pain, now become iron and his broken back turns to marble – his face stiffens and he gets out the wickedest of smirks.

“Well, I _did_ kiss her.”

Robb stares at him but doesn't seem to react.

His blue eyes become huge, their pupils look like he saw his biggest fear crash into his life, like a car into a tree.

And Theon knows he should stop there, but he doesn't; and his smirk gets sharper and more painful to wear, like the needle that sews his corners up, piercing his flesh too deeply.

“I kissed her. Quickly and nothing more. - he doesn't know why he adds that, maybe out of fear or mercy – It was yesterday night.”

“...yesterday?”

“Yes. - he wants to stop smiling but can't – Why?”

“No...nothing.”

Theon seems hurt, “I... guessed so.”

“You... how could you kiss her?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“I... - Robb tries but the words die in his throat and under his tongue there’s a desert – She likes you so... playing with her feelings was...”

“I didn't play! It was only a kiss!”

“Does she feel the same? Like it was only a kiss?”

“I guess you never know which stuff matters for real to people.”

“What does that even mean?”

Theon's eyes shine and Robb's fill in the corners.

“Don't worry, I won't fuck your precious little sister. - he almost roars – Keep protecting her and yourself, I'm the big bad wolf, aren't I?”

As Robb realizes the sadness riding Theon's eyes, he moves to him and grabs him by the waist.

“You're not...”

His arms scorch Theon's skin and the other boy can feel his hips ready to beg to be touched too.

He stiffs and takes Robb's arms away from his own.

“Why? So you can forget this time too?”

“...you... - Robb frowns – You do remember it?”

Theon lowers his face in shame while his cheeks burn. He can feel Robb staring at him, he can't read hope, though, he just decides there is fear in those blue eyes.

He breathes heavily and his mocking pitch comes out too similar to tears, “Did I look that drunk to you?”

Robb sucks his bottom lip in frustration and scratches his nape.

Theon insists, with a weak wet dense fury like venom filling his mouth, “You can be ashamed by it, I am.”

He opens the door, ready to go.

Robb's face is the colour of his hair and his eyes are big and scared like a deer facing a gun. He looks like he’s about to stop breathing.

He tries to remember the words of his speech, but they mix and hurt and his head is dizzy with his heart making him deaf.  _I'm on fire_ rings in the back of his head.

He walks to Theon, but Theon backs off.

“I'm not a faggot.”

His fingers shake on the door and he goes out, leaving Robb behind and alone, looking at the void where he was before.

*

When Asha enters the room, she sees her brother with his face buried in a pillow with three cans of beer emptied next to him.

“...should I deduce it went awfully?”

A muffled nodding confirms her suspicion.

Asha sighs, “What did you do?”

Theon lifts his face enough from the pillow to croak, “He remembered last night but pretended not to.”

“So you did kiss.”

“...not exactly.”

Asha's eyes widen, “...did you fuck?”

“Maybe.”

“Whoa. - she pauses a second, reflecting – Can I ask who...”

“No.”

She pouts a bit, worried, then caresses his black locks, “Give him time, maybe he never considered he could be...”

“...gay?”

“...something his parents wouldn't approve of.”

“Fair point. - he sighs and buries himself in the pillow again – I feel awful.”

“Umh. - she looks at the oranges she bought at the market, of an atomic warm colour with a strong smell of summer – Why don't you bring these to mom?”

Theon stiffs a bit, “I don't know.”

“You didn't go in a while.”

“It's a bit...”

“I know. - Asha says – But she likes oranges and you need to get your butt up.”

Theon nods and puts himself up, fighting the urge to keep his eyes closed and ignoring the world.

Asha looks at him worried, “Brush your teeth, so she won't smell the beer.”, she seems to ask.

Theon grabs the oranges and goes out to the car, driving enough fast to lose track of the drawn lines of the houses and see just smashed colours all blurred together.

He tries to put on music, but everything annoys him, and he can't bring himself to finish any song. Every voice is just not Robb's voice and yet it reminds him of that every instant.

“Stupid baritones, stupid damn baritones. - he kicks the car – Goddammit.”

He looks over his mobile but sees no calls and no messages.

His background is a selfie he took with Robb when they found a couple of stupid T-Shirts and pink heart shaped glasses. Robb looked so cute, Theon pretended to find him ridiculous just to have an excuse to take a pic. 

When they were so close, for an instant, he did think about kissing him.

But Robb smiled at him and he got too afraid to lose him to move.

He passes his fingers over his eyes, quickly, drying away the skin, and tries to focus on the road to arrive to Maple Paradise.

The road became soon countryside, filled with trees and annoying birds loudly singing their irritating lover tunes. Theon parked close enough to the entrance to run away as quickly as it could have been humanly possible in case of tear-jerking moments from the nurses.

He likes his mom, loves her, even; but hates visiting.

It's a grim reminder, it's sticky and makes his heart glued with sadness and memories.

Of when his brothers were alive and his father better and his uncles were home and he was afraid, but not alone, scared but not abandoned.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to be angry with his mother – she did not choose to move away, not abandon his side by choice.

They couldn't keep her home anymore. She kept falling from the stairs, screaming, shouting, kept asking about Maron and yelled at Asha throwing her dishes... he barely remembered how it was having her around, how she was before in general.

His stomach clenches.

“Alannys Harlaw. - he communicates to the nurse at the entrance – Harlaw Greyjoy, that's it.”

She seems to light up at the sight of him, “Oh! She was waiting for you! She kept saying her little boy should have come soon. - she softens – We thought it was a caprice, but I'm happy to see she was right. Your sister is with you?”

“No, no, Asha is a bit busy...”

“I see... She will be delighted to see you.”

Theon chuckles; as if someone ever was delighted by his presence. But it was true his mother loved him, always, and dearly, she always brushed his hair and caressed them; last time he visited she made them in a braid and told him not to say anything to his father about it. She still calls him “baby boy” and never fails to recognize him.

He feels a bit proud of it.

Maron, Rodrik and their death fell into the void, Asha got the rage fits, but he... he is still “baby boy” and she smiles at him.

The nurse accompanies him to a little room, decorated with many flowers and pink walls – he didn't see it in a long time and he almost forgot it, maybe wanting to...

“I... remembered it blue.”

“It was light blue. - the nurse confirms – The volunteers repainted it last month.”

“That was... nice of them.”

“Your sister said your mom would have hated it.”, she points out, mildly offended at the memory.

Theon laughs, “She would have, but my mom hated a long series of things.”

“Then her moods are not a symptom. - she pales and gasps – Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I-”

Theon laughs louder and pats her on the back, “Miss, don't worry. I grant you, she would have laughed too.”

The nurse still seems quite embarrassed, even if she smiles, “Try to be patient, lately she remembers very little, but talking and company always reach them.”

Theon nods and opens the door, seeing the woman thinner than he remembered, sitting by the window, with an empty teacup in her hands.

She looks distant and yet her traits are familiar and make Theon feel welcome; he sits and smiles as the woman turns to him.

“I have your favourites. - he says, showing an orange – Oranges.”

The woman smiles like a child and moves her hand to grasp one of the fruits.

“Let me peel it for you...”, Theon asks, winking, and the woman nods sucking her lips and waiting.

“Thank you.”, she mumbles.

Her voice is clumpy silk, but it reminds Theon of when they used to sing together on the porch in the summer nights when it was too hot to sleep early and stars were bright as the moon.

“Asha misses you...”

“A...sha...sha. - she repeats, with no light in her eyes and Theon gives her a first slice of orange – Masha?”

She takes the slice like a squirrel, with doubt and yet desire, grasping it and keeping it close. Unceremoniouly eating it but in small bites, little by little.

Theon smiles sadly, “Asha.”

“Asha.”, she repeats, without knowing what it means, sucking her orange slice.

“I... want to enter in the art academy next year. In the city. - he claims then, firmly – I want to paint and sculpt... you know? Dad would probably hate me.”

“I paint.”

“Umh?”

“Yes, me and Rodrik... we paint often... especially when we go to the seaside together.”

Rodrik, not his brother but her own, the uncle he barely saw. He has an ancient bookstore if Theon remembers correctly, his father doesn't like him much.

“So... you would like me to be an artist?”

She smiles, brightly, “Be bold. - she says, proud – Whatever you want to be, take that.”

“...also whoever?”

She smiles, “I had some boys. - she chirps, a vague coquettish smile that Theon never saw her wear before – Don't tell it to Balon, but there was this boy, Walder, who would always bring me milkshakes. But, gosh, he was so unkind to the sight! Balon seems a stallion in comparison.”

Theon laughs, “You were always the beautiful one.”

“Shush! - she laughs like a kid and now eats her orange slice with a vague flirty gleam – You're quite the flatterer.”

Theon smiles weakly, “Do you love him much?”

“He has... a side just for me. Like a candy. It's a candy he gives only to me, while to everyone else he is a bitter asshole.”

Theon laughs, “It's hard to imagine.”

She smiles, “You should meet him once...”

“...what?”

“My Balon. - she smiles – You should meet him.”

Her eyes don't focus on him anymore, but on the wall behind him and then she looks away to the window. Theon's weak smirk falls from his mouth and he stares at her blankly.

She stands up, with labour, and mumbles, “Ah... he should visit soon, with our babies. And our baby boy. - she looks at the lamp – My baby boy... he always brings me oranges too.”

Nausea rides Theon's stomach and he pushes it back.

He forces himself to smile again, while the woman seems paler than before, her white gown like the foam of the sea, illuminated by the lamp it seems almost like the skin of a spring ghost melting in the dew.

The air feels heavy, like a wet cloak. And Theon bends a bit, alone. As if he lost her for real just now.

“He must love you a lot...”, he whispers.

When he goes away, he almost doesn't feel anything. The world is numb, filled in cotton and he is immersed in a pure white nothingness.

He drives quick and soundless, wondering where the road will stop and not thinking about where he is leading himself.

It starts to pour and all he can think about is Robb's kisses.

How he felt like prey and yet safe in his arms.

How he was home only and finally with him.

The knocking doesn't stop for minutes and gets angrier and angrier. Robb takes off his earphones and goes down, moving to the door.

His family went all out, for a monthly trip to the mall, to get all the new clothes and some stationery; Robb declined, claiming he had to study for a math test, and nor Bran nor Sansa gave him away. 

He proceeded to listen to the full discography of the saddest bands in existence and roll on the bed, not eating and avoiding to think.

The rain started to fall and he felt so welcomed in it, he fell asleep in it’s sweet embrace. Until the knocking.

So when he opens the door, eyes red and swollen from the tears, in a shirt wrinkled because he slept in it, ruffled hair and tired face, he is not the show he would have wanted Theon to see, especially not after that discussion.

He still feels a sea of sadness in his lungs at his “faggot” before going away.

And the night became a stronger torture, now more vivid, more carved in his mind, more coloured.

Theon looks like a truck hit him, his hair is a mess, he has tear trenches on his face and he keeps scratching his forhead and his arms; Robb can distinguish red signs of his nails all over them.

He had a very long panic attack, probably.

He sucks his lips, trying to order himself to be offended, to be distant, that Theon behaved poorly.

“Did you fight with your dad?”

Theon doesn't reply, he just stares and his eyes are shining in tears.

His black locks look like the snake of medusa, tempting Robb to hold them and let them trap him.

“...can I enter, please?”

Robb closes the door. He imposes himself to and it burns.

“Faggot” turns and twists in his head, the rejection, the shame... Theon had seemed to care and then... then he... 

It rains harder, thunder slamming through the sky and cutting it open.

He can hear Theon crying against the door, unwillingly. He always tries to cry silently, but he is not good at it.

He cries like babies do, with snot coming down their faces and cheeks all red, closing his eyes and desperately blind and deaf to everyone rolling in their hearts.

Robb breathes in, curses himself and open the door.

Theon turns to him, “...she forgot me.”

“Enter... - he murmurs, looking at him – You'll tell me after I dry you.”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Special TW for the chapter: second-hand embarrassment, protective moms

* * *

 

**6\. Whole Lotta Robbie**

* * *

 

“What happened?”, he asks, concerned, drying Theon's hair with a towel. The raindrops fall on the kitchen counter and shatter like empty wet stars on the table the boy is sitting on.

Theon shurgs his shoulders, unsure of what to say, how to explain.

He is ashamed of returning to Robb after that fight, but who would have listened to him? Whom to go to?

He stayed there in silence for what felt like long insatiable minutes.

“I went to my mom... - he let out in a whisper – She... didn't recognize me.”

Robb stops and tries to catch Theon's eyes under the mass of partly-dry hair, to have a glimpse of his glance.

He doesn't know why, his heart feels like it's drowning in the rain outside the house and in the silent temptation to kiss Theon that he still feels. He curses himself for being so selfish and just thinking about how much he'd want to comfort him his own way, instead of holding him and finding the right words.

But which words are right?

Which words fit together with a mother's eyes not finding their son in you?

Could he even imagine finding strangers while looking into familiar eyes and losing all of the roads to his own heart?

“I'm so sorry...”

“It is the first time. - his voice is small like a chicks’ – Usually, she remembers me, she asks for me, I... I felt at least I was...”

“Unforgettable to her?”

Theon nods without realizing, “She is.. was... the only person who I felt... wouldn't have...rather seen me disappear.”

Robb frowns and bends over him, taking away the towel and throwing it next to them.

“What are you saying? - he seems to be angry, but he can't yell, he forces himself to murmur – Your dad is an asshole, but he is not everyone... me and Asha and also Jon and Sansa, we love you.”

“...and look how well I managed to fuck up my relationship with three of the people you named!”, he giggles, ironically, then to fall again into a stubborn sadness.

Robb grasps his hand, firmly, “You didn't ruin anything.”

“...aren't you angry at me for Sansa?”

“I'm not overjoyed with you making out with my little sister. - he mumbles – But not because of... me not entrusting her happiness to you as a man and not because I think badly of you.”

It's Theon's turn to frown and stare at Robb uncertain of where he is going.

“You are not a bad wolf, Theon. - he lets out – And I am no little red riding hood.”

He pauses again, staring at the floor, with his cheeks getting darker and Theon feels his mouth opening, his lips parting, poorly hiding a certain tension and need for Robb to just speak up.

“I wanted last night. - he lets out, in a dry, almost inaudible grasp – I wanted to... - he can't choose whether to say 'have sex' or 'make love' and he shakes his head, embarrassed - … _do it_ with you.”

Theon is not sure of what that means exactly, but his heart is beating a bit too loud and he feels Robb's hand on his own like smouldering embers.

“You...?”

“I'm...gay. - he panics – Wait, that's not the point, I mean I am gay, but that is not... the point, the point is... oh god, I hate this this is a mess, look, I like you. I... - Theon's eyes widen – I... I've had the most desperate, ridiculous, honest to god awful crush on you for a long time and I... I wanted to be with you and I know you don-”

“Shut up.”

“Ah... okay.”, he mumbles without looking at Theon's face.

The weight of his own words make him shy and red, but Theon just stares, tasting them, metabolizing them, slowly, one by one. He takes a moment to feel they are real, that they are happening and then he smiles, slowly, without noticing, a big honest smile rises on his face.

He pulls Robb's neck close to him, catching his lips in a kiss.

Robb seems confused, blinks twice but as he sees the happy light in Theon's eyes, he closes his own and grabs Theon's waist, pulling him close, and then deepening the kiss.

Robb's tongue fills Theon's mouth and he pushes more, training to gain control, while his fingers run through the auburn curls.

Autumn flows between his bones and the heat of the kiss meets his heart as summer.

There's haste and hunger, but they're smiling and their arms search for each other in a dance more than in a tormented banquet of flesh.

Theon laughs, when they separate and Robb caresses his black hair and kisses his forehead.

“How dare you tell me only now...”, he laughs a bit, while salt fills his eyes.

Robb sighs and smiles, “Well, you... kind of ran away... I didn't feel like you were very...”

“Oh, that. - he swallows, remembering – I, it's just, I...”

“You don't have to tell me. - Robb shakes his head – We both did our share of stupid teenage angst.”

Theon nods and swallows. He tries to bury it, that sensation of shame he felt and bury it between his ribs and beyond his lungs, he hopes that way, it won't rise again.

Maybe if he never says it, maybe if Robb never knows, maybe he won't think about him weirdly.

Maybe he too will forget.

Robb kisses him again and smiles and Theon is sure nothing else matters, after all, and he closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation.

It's warm where lines meet their end, when they melt into each other. It's warm where Theon finishes and his borders vanish into Robb's.

His skin smells like salt and the tender yellow light of the lamp makes his hair shine with a copper gleam. For a while, he closes his eyes, caresses Robb's shoulders and back, and can feel the sand run under his feet. He thinks about a different sea, not the cold, dense with blackness, sea of his hometown, but the orange-infused light waters of southern seas.

He imagines belonging there.

He dreams to belong to the warmth Robb has.

“...is anyone... home?”

Robb shakes his head, “We are alone...”, he replies promptly, realizing just a moment later what it may mean or why Theon might ask.

Theon's fingers run over his chest, their tips like a brush painting a foreign, absurd desire.

“Maybe we could...”

“Maybe...”, Robb nods, doubtful, and then he moves his hands, not sure of where to put them and ruffles his own hair flustered.

Theon's eyes are clear and sharp as he stares at him without flinching.

He sticks his tongue a bit out and licks his lips, more out of nervousness than for the sake of appearing sexy, but the effect on Robb is the same.

“So... wanna go upstairs?”  
Theon pulls off a smirk, “Your room?”  
“Which other one?”

“I don't know: your parents'? - Robb stiffs, terrified, and Theon lets out a weird sigh and lifts his eyebrows a bit – Calm down, I was joking.”

“...oh, oh, okay.”

Theon's hand caresses his back, gently, almost afraid. Robb could feel his hollow veins filled with a deep need of having him close, but a certain unknown shame rose in him.

“...do – do you want something to drink?”

“Ah, before...?”

“If, if we go upstairs and then get thirsty, that's gonna be inconvenient. - he smiles panicky and then realizes how he sounded – Oh, umh, like... I... I'm an idiot, I-”

“A coke. A coke will be fine.”

“Regular or light?”

“Do you have light?”

“Sansa likes that one. - he explains briefly and then hands it to Theon from the fridge – She is starting to... you know, think about this stuff.”

“I suppose so. - he nods, unimpressed – Asha doesn't seem to... have to.”

“She's a lucky one, eh?”

“Would you like me as a girl?”

“Uh?”

“I mean, if I had boobs. - he pauses – But.. no, umh, you said you are.. gay, so... you wouldn't?”  
“I'm not sure. - Robb admits, redder, avoiding Theon's eyes – I never thought about it.”  
“How did you not?”

“Well. I... I never liked anyone but you. - he sort of just blurts it out like if he threw a hand bomb – So, I deduced I was gay because... the only one I liked was a boy...”  
“Oh.”

Theon says it emotionless, but he feels the ground opening under his feet and swallowing his stomach.

He is not sure why but his cheeks feel bruised and tickle like if ants were walking over them or they were burning up. His guts clench a bit and his voice gets weak.

He wants to say he loves him too.

“I like girls. - he says it and sees Robb's eyes get bigger – I mean... not only them, but I do like them. I... I'm not sure with boys. I like you though. That, that way included. - he swallows and tilts his head to the side a bit, hiding behind a big lock – Is it a problem?”

“Ah... ah, no, I mean, I knew you did, so...”, he scratches his head.

“Robb.”  
“Yes?”

And there’s a lot he wants to ask: _if I say I love you will you laugh_ ?  _Will you go away_ ? _Will you love me like this, like I am, a dirty deed and a wrong piece_ ? _A lost thing in the middle of the world_ ?

“I want _you_.”, he says and it feels like an appropriate sunto, somehow, because that 'you' is heartfelt and heavy in his mouth and comes out bold and drenched in truth.

Robb doesn't complain about his wording and simply comes down on him and kisses his lips softly, “I  _want_ you too.” but his emphasis lands on 'want' and it feels light and vague and fake, because he wants another word and can't use it yet, so he settles for paper when he craves marble.

He runs his hand on Theon's waist and his head points at the stairs, pushing him ever so lightly, Theon has to take his hand and pull Robb to make him see that he truly agrees with it. 

He opens Robb's door with an indelicate kick and then jumps onto Robb's lips, passionately, calling him in a kiss eager and deep. His tongue moves a bit too fast and his hands on Robb's skin are rushed and strong. Robb tries to protest, but he follows, clumsily, moving his hands on Theon's waist and hips, trying to take control of a kiss that was barely about him, he realizes.

“Are you nervous?”, he whispers.

Theon scoffs, as if he would be nervous about sex, and in a smug laugh shuts Robb up again with his tongue. There no grace and no focus, no greed and no need, Theon seems just to be rushing to the pool to hide his head underwater.

He bites Robb's neck and his shoulders, a bit too much and Robb whimpers in protest.

“Sorry.”

“It's okay.”, he grants.

Theon kisses the bitten skin but doesn't try to bite again, he rushes to his nipples, kisses them through the thin fabric of the shirt and sucks on them; Robb barely feels anything but lets out some lewd moans that sound like an unenthusiastic falsetto.

Theon feels a weird embarrassment: he is good at sex, it's the only thing he knows he is good at, why isn't it working? Why is he doing it badly? He swallows and the sensation of the ants come back all over his face, this time painfully, while his heart clenches.

Robb looks at him and feels his stomach sink: maybe Theon is waiting for him to do something? But he is not sure what.

He had sex once, once and it was with him and in an evening that was too much of a dream for him to use it as an instructions’ manual. Okay, Theon thought he had actually lost his virginity to a girl some months before, the famous night they danced to Can't Fight the Moonlight; because Robb came out of the room and, upon Theon noticing – of course he fucking noticed – his dull mood, Robb replied the girl didn't like it much, instead of admitting he never went beyond boobs, because he felt so bad for doing it while he kept thinking about him and he spilled the whole truth to the girl who petted his shoulders and granted him her silence on the matter.

So Theon didn't know it was literally his second time going beyond clothes.

Maybe he expects something and so he tries, and, well. He pushes Theon on the bed, because it seems romantic in movies, except Theon is not expecting it and he looks terrified for a solid second before landing on Robb's bed and while he could be aroused from the gesture normally, Robb's bed makes a squeaky sound that warns him.

“Is... is this bed okay?”

“Yeah, umh, sure. - Robb stutters, before arriving to Theon and all insecure pulling out a deeper voice – Stop complaining.”

The thing is, the darker voice may work for a tenor, but Robb is already a baritone and when he lowers his voice fakely he goes directly into the bass range and comes off sounding as a less asthmatic but quite scarier version of Darth Vader.

Theon stares at him unsure if finding it creepy or plain funny.

And Robb opts for the worst solution, in a fit of imitation of his best friend's Life Choice Method probably, and goes full on trying to be firm and how a manly man is supposed to talk in bed, because maybe the problem is he is too much of a softie and that doesn't arouse Theon; maybe Theon wants him to be a little more... obscene? But manly-like? He panics slightly and goes with the disastrous flow.

“You... you... you need to shut up.”

Theon raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly, “Excuse me?”

“I'm not here to speak, so umh, let's-”

“...are you trying to dirty talk me, Stark?”

Robb nods, red staining his cheeks, while Theon tries to avoid laughing. He kisses him on the cheek and mumbles “Don't do things you are not comfortable with, it's awkward.”

“...all of this is quite awkward.”, Robb admits, shyly.

Theon hates to admit it, but he is right and bites a bit his inner cheek.

“Let's try to just do it, okay? It will come more natural.”

“You think so?”

“What's the worst that can happen? - Theon snorts – You make me pregnant and I decide to keep it for baby Jesus?”

Robb smiles and catches Theon's lips again, in a strong kiss that though, this time, he leads and feels better with. Theon doesn't seem particularly aroused, while, even in that embarrassment, he can feel his own lower regions responding quite energetically to Theon's presence, regardless of the situation. Probably his skin remembers how they felt, one against the other, brushing and thrusting.

“I want you. - he repeats and takes off Theon's jeans and unzips his own – I want you again.”

And as he says again, Theon is left with no strength to protest.

Because it means Robb did want him before, that Robb didn't change his mind, that he didn't just exploit him in a desperate night. He grabs Robb's ears and kisses him.

He doesn't think about explaining to him he is dry.

He doesn't think about telling him to get lube.

When Robb's cock tries to force his entrance, pulling his walls apart, Theon just screams in pain, and, while doing so, bites Robb's tongue still in his mouth, making him moan in distress.

He separates quickly, and cries out, “Out, out, out!”

Robb tries to stutter something about the fact his tip is in and Theon's ass is too tight and he can't move back all of a sudden without risking to hurt him, but when he sees Theon is literally tearing up in pain, he retracts immediately.

Theon mouths something beneath his breath, barely audible.

He is not angry at Robb; how could he be? Robb is so pure and has good intentions, he just doesn't know. And he should have told him, and he should now, and nothing big happened – it's just a bit of pain, no? Not even that much, it was fear, there it is. Fear, fear of pain, and just a bit of pain and he yelled and then he cried in frustration and it was no big deal, no big deal, he needs to stop crying because Robb will feel mortified and he doesn't want Robb to stop loving him and and and...

“Can we only make love while drunk?”, he cries out at once.

Robb blinks. He smiles and goes to Theon and hugs him tight, enveloping him in his arms.

He caresses Theon's black hair and kisses his scalp softly.

“Did you want to make love right now because you were afraid it was all about that? - he asks, gently, and Theon nods weakly, hiding a bit, like a small animal in a cave – Theon, I was not drunk the first night and I won't need to be any other. - he kisses his forehead – It was damn awkward because we were not feeling it, it just seemed like the right thing to do... like in a film, you know? ‘Now they make love again’.”

Theon seems to be pained at registering those words but then he decides they do make sense.

“I want to... I'm just...”

Robb frowns, “Is it about... who...is the fork?”

Theon raises his eyes in horror.

“Hey, hey, don't panic. - Robb swallows – Look, I, I get it, I also don't know... I never had a boyfriend before you... or... an anything for the matter. - he seems to realize and coughs away his embarrassment – I had no idea how we would have done it before doing it, I went with what felt good, but if you don't like it...”

“I do. - he pauses – That's kind of the problem.”

“Why?”

“...because it makes me the girl.”

Robb scoffs, “Theon Greyjoy, you are not a girl. - he kisses Theon's jaw softly, then his Adam's apple which gives a tense jump, the goes to his chest – You are absolutely not a girl. And I'm really sure because you have no idea how much I stared at your damn not girly body for years.”

“...years?”  
“Don't make me repeat it, I beg you.”

But Theon is elated, a drunk pride took over his face and gave him back that smug jerk smirk, “Years?”

Robb groans, desperate, “Why did I...?”

“Years!”

“Yes, yes, we don't need to , you know, dwell into precision too much! - Robb tries to conceal a little the embarrassment that took over him, then forces himself to continue speaking – If you want, we can do it the other way, but... but if you don't want to do something you like out of fear of it changing your genitalia, I assure you, that's a little more complicated and surgically troublesome than having anal sex.”

Those words sink into Theon's heart and he smiles tenderly and kisses Robb's nose, rubbing against it. Robb headbutts him and closes his eyes.

He can almost feel when Theon smirks again, “You said 'anal'.”

“Are you three?”

Theon kisses his ear, “Maybe. - he kisses it again – Will you sing to me?”

“What am I, a jukebox?”

“Oh, just a bit... to set the atmosphere. - he licks the ear and Robb stiffs against his tongue, aroused - I got a bad desire, oh-oh-oh, I'm on fire...”

“You're an asshole, you are not on fire.”

“I'm an asshole on fire. - Theon claims, proudly – I may need an anal-ist.”

Robb turns and stares at him dead in the eyes, “That was... truly awful.”, and then he starts laughing unwillingly and Theon smirks and tickles him and keeps asking him to repeat 'anal' ignoring Robb's protests buried in laughter.

Robb looks so relaxed, finally, and he lies against the bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Theon stares at him, mesmerized.

He opens his can of coke, trying to force himself to cool down and Robb glances at him, like a puppy.

“Do you want some?”, Theon asks.

It was not the coke he was thirsty for, but he figures it's better not to specify and he nods, while his eyes are still glued to Theon's parted lips, red from all the kissing, and as he doesn't grab the can well it falls on his chest and spill all over it.

The fabric attaches to his skin, making thin white lines between caramel-colored wet puddles of cotton. Robb looks surprised and vaguely done with life. He groans and is about to stand up, when he realizes Theon is glancing at him, swallowing and swallowing, hard.

He makes a little sound, but Theon doesn't seem to hear him, he just moves, goes over to Robb and starts leaving small kisses over the wet shirt. And cold becomes hot and Robb can feel his blood rushing again towards his crotch.

Theon grins, flattered, as he notices Robb's reaction and goes on. He draws with his lips circles of fire and torment on Robb's skin, making him stiff in arousal.

Robb's breath gets caught and cut by Theon's tongue insinuating between the lines of his ribs, painting the trail of his muscles, making the road of every nerve a delirious spark.

His eyes shine in darkness and hunger, but most of it all, in control. And Robb doesn't mind.

He closes his eyes and lets Theon feed off him, enjoying the smouldering sensation of his tongue and his hands and his hair – he can feel them tickling, touching, tasting. He can feel Theon's voracious deep eyes.

And he knows, in a way, that Theon will always be to him like a mermaid, a creature of the sea depth, drowning him in pleasure and love. And he loves to drown in him.

Theon takes his full, throbbing, erection in his mouth, deep throating it and Robb lets out a delighted loud moan. He growls and searches for Theon's hair to push his head down.

He knows Theon is smirking, god, his ego must have reached a Himalaya-n high right then.

He can feel the softness of his silky mouth, the tender and obscene heat of his cave, welcoming him, torturing him with scorching touches. He sucks him dry and Robb can't avoid rolling his eyes to the ceiling in a melted moan.

He almost squirms, completely enraptured, but then Theon stops.

He takes his cock out of his mouth and Robb tries to protest, but gets silenced by a jolt of pleasure, as Theon's whole huge tongue passes on the side of his dick, envelopes the head, his lips sucking it, now mercilessly, now heavenly.

Robb opens his eyes and brings himself up a little, almost to sit, but Theon doesn't stop his slow operation and keeps drawing circles around Robb's head, tormenting its start, ruthlessly relishing in every jerk or twitch Robb's hips give.

“Please...”, he pants.

“Please what?”, Theon asks, rubbing gently the edge of his teeth on the shaft, making Robb suck and bite his lips to suffocate a scream of bliss.

Robb growl, hides his face behind his hands, while his hips move, rub on the blanket, between the sheets. He looks like a snake in the grip of passion, vertigos shaking his bones and electrifying his flesh.

“Please _what_?”, Theon repeats, licking slowly.

“Ta-take it in again.”

He almost pleads and Theon smirks and comments, in his velvet voice, “Good boy.”, before satisfying the request and getting the big shaft in his mouth. He pumps its base as he moves up and down with his hot mouth, melting Robb's blood to flames and making him moan and twirl in pleasure, completely enchanted. Robb growls and pushes, thrusts into Theon's mouth, fucking it, banging it as he remembers banging his sweet ass. Theon's breath gets warmer, as he hesitates, aroused, and lets his tongue loll against Robb's cock now working the rhythm for him, rapidly ravaging his mouth to the throat. He hits the back of it over and over and Theon just feels so full his blood tenses his cock in a needy erection. His eyes roll back in pleasure, while Robb pushes more, coming against his smouldering, thirsty walls, emptying himself on his tongue.

He swallows the thick cum and gulps it down, licking his lips in a slutty swift urgency.

He stares at Robb, his eyes needy and his sweat on fire. His head is dizzy and his voice sounds faint, “I... I think we might have just needed to relax.”

“I like this definition of relax...”, Robb lets out, in a small smile.

Theon laughs and cleans the little bit of cum he has on his lips with the back of his hand.

“You didn't have to...”

“It's good. - he winks – It doesn't taste bad.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“If it doesn't gross you out.”

“It's... - he frowns – It's literally my stuff, c'mon.”

“What a gentleman, - Theon comments, suave, going closer to Robb and laying stomach to stomach over him – Kisses his whore on the mouth after a blowjob.”

Robb admits he doesn't mind that type of language, but he is not sure why Theon is using it.

“You're... - his hands go on Theon's waist and keep it firm, circling him - … not my whore.”

Robb looks seriously into Theon's eyes, as he keeps him like something precious, like a fragile gem, and yet with a certain sensual need to grasp that waist and keep it still while he... he shouldn't think about that stuff. He swallows desire returning to him and mumbles, “You're my boyfriend.”

Theon blinks, surprised, “Boyfriend?”

“...well, I, umh, we...”

Theon smirks, “I am not the boyfriend of everyone I go to bed with.”

Robb's grasp gets harder and Theon smiles at it, enjoying the possessiveness. Nobody was ever interested in possessing him for real, nobody desperate to lose him. In fact, sex was his only source of power.

“I love you, though.”, Robb says, point blank, shot in the dark.

His blue eyes shine in an honesty Theon could never imagine to own.

Robb swallows, nervous, at the lack of an answer, but he doesn't let go of Theon's waist, “So I'm asking you, if you would like to... be...”

Theon kisses him softly on the lips, caresses his soft curls and smiles, “Only if you are the one who kill bugs.”

Robb laughs, bites his lips, “Okay, but you have to be the one who cooks.”

“Deal.”

Theon kisses him again, this time deeply, making space in Robb's mouth, taking it, and taking over his senses. Theon is intoxicating and Robb pulls his head closer to him, pressing his hair and drinking all his soft moans.

He feels Theon's arousal rubbing against his thigh, like dogs do, and he kisses him deeper, distracting him, while he moves his leg too, masturbating him slowly, dancing against his hardened shaft.

Theon smiles, breathing out in a pleasured groan, when Robb's hand goes there and caresses his cock.

He rests his head against Robb's shoulder, and tries to avoid getting loud and vocal, while bliss flows through his veins and stiffens into him, making his engorged red cock harder to bear and his face heated in need.

“Robb...”

“Yes?”, he whispers with a hint of pride at making Theon moan his name.

“You said love.”

“I said love.”

Theon smiles, Robb's pumps getting faster and faster and his breath thinner and feebler and his heart racing and he feel like he is going to shoot out all of the marrow in his bones.

“I love you too...”, he whispers softly, burying his face into Robb's shoulder.

Robb's hand grabs Theon's cock harder and jerks it faster and faster until Theon squirts against it and lets out so much his hand and the stomach under is filled with his thick pearly sperm.

Theon kisses Robb's cheek, feeling weirdly dizzy.

Robb holds him close, “Really?”

Theon hides a bit in his neck and mumbles, annoyed, “Years.”

They both feel stupid for a while, then they feel stupidly happy and fall asleep like that, half under half above the sheets, half naked and half wetted in coke an cum, one hiding his face in the collarbones of the other, both breathing in the light feeling of the rain leaving the earth fresher and newer than how it found it.

Hours flooded slow and swollen like lake waters under rain, Theon sunk deeper into Robb's hug and he held him strongly, breathing the sweet scent of his hair. They woke up only under a brutal and quite acute shriek almost piercing their eardrums.

“Robb!”

Theon is the first to jump up, awake, eyes wide in terror of seeing Robb's parents, hands on their hips, ready to scold the gay son for his obscene conduct with the libertine friend they never liked. He lets out a sigh of relief when he realizes it's just Jon.

“Thank God, I thought it was Cat...”

“She will be home soon. - Jon shouts, throwing at him a shirt – Get dressed. - his eyes fall on Robb, still sleepy, hugging Theon like an octopus - … you should wake him up.”

Theon looks at Robb's face that looks puffy and innocent, with his lips parted, while he snoozes softly. He caresses his hair, lingering on how soft they feel.

“He is cute though...”

“Oh god. - he groans – Look, please, just... don't let Cat find him like this.”

Theon frowns and sighs, “I'll just get dressed and go away, so he can rest. - he smiles at Robb – But tell him I didn't run away.”

Jon groans, “Am I your messenger now?”

“I'll write a note, then.- he snaps, annoyed – It's clear counting on you for such a simple help was totally ridiculous of me.”  
“You could ask with a please?”

“We both know it's not the lack of the please that makes a difference.”

“Or maybe I don't like you being a jerk.”

“Or maybe you are a little whiny bitch.”

Robb's voice rises weakly, “You two...”

Jon sighs, “I see your confession of love went well in the end.”

“Yes. - he holds Theon's waist and Theon smiles at him, forgetting Jon is in the room for a while – And I'm really lucky.”

“Me too...”

“And I'm developing cavities and diabetes. - Jon scoffs, moving away from them – Cat and dad are returning soon. I am not sure how many people you want to come out to in twenty-four hours.”

“Oh. - Robb gets pale – We can't tell Sansa.”

“What?”

Robb turns to Theon, “She'd be too hurt and sad, we can't tell her yet.”

Jon frowns, “Why?”

“She's got a little crush on me. - Theon explains, unimpressed – Look, I'm worried for San too but... really?”

“Give me a bit of time, please, couple of weeks.”, Robb asks.

Jon is still confused, “What makes him so special, exactly?”  
“Beauty, charm, a well-endowe-”

“Theon!”

“Okay okay, sorry. - Theon sighs – Must be the long hair.”

“I have long hair!”, Jon whines.

“You have pubic hair on your head, it's a bit different.”

Robb buries his face in his hands, “I'm begging you two... I'm trying to be the good person who does the right thing here.”

“Tell Sansa everything; she'll discover it anyway and it will be worse.”

“Pubic head is right. - Theon nods – For how I hate to consider it.”

“I... she is my little sister, Theon. - he almost whispers – I'm her big brother.”

“So is Jon.”

“It's different... - he looks at Jon – She is like me, me and her are closer, like Jon is closer to Arya, it's understood between us. She counts more on me than on him, as to Arya Jon will always be the big brother more than me. - he frowns a bit – Isn't Asha a bit more your sibling than the others ever were?”

Theon sighs, “I suppose so... but... we can still...?”

“Of course. - Robb holds Theon's hand firmly – I didn't mean we shouldn't... _meet_.”

Jon puts his hands on his ears and shouts, “I'm in the room with you two, guys, it's gross.”

Theon raises an eyebrow, “He said 'meet', not 'suck each others' cocks', you know?”

“It's stuff I don't need to know, okay?”

Robb sighs, looking at those two playing again like kids. He stands up slowly and starts getting dressed, shaking his head from time to time as they go on bickering.

Theon said he loves him and they made love. It was a good day.

He smiles in the mirror, trying to give himself a nice stay-home look that didn't betray either the boiling sex nor the fact he tried to put himself together after.

At the uptenth joke, Jon groans and opens the door, about to storm out of the room, but before he says, more quietly, so Theon can't hear him, “You managed.” and gives a proud look. Robb mouths a thanks before returning on the bed with Theon, handing him a pair of jeans and one of his boxers.

“These may be a bit large for your skinny jeans addiction, but they'll work.”

“Thank you. - he gives Robb a long, red glance – But I am a bit sad we do have to dress.”

Robb sits next to him and smiles, “I know I'm asking you a lot because of Sansa, it's just... I don't want her to get her heart broken again.”

“I get it. - Theon kisses Robb quickly on the cheek – But you'll have to keep your hands off me for two weeks in front of her, it might be hard for you to resist.”

“It will most definitely be.”

Theon kisses Robb's lobe and sucks on it, making him clench his lips and fists to suffocate a moan. It feels so good to give him pleasure and have him squirm and growl under him.

And yet, what he craves the most, is still having that beast unleashed over him, in him, like that night. 

He pokes Robb's cheek.  _His little wolf_ .

Theon dresses quickly and brushes his hair a bit, he tries to seem as if he just arrived to simply visit a friend; so when the whole army of the Stark children, Capitain Cat and her second in command Ned enter in the room to check how Robb is doing, they find both of them in front of the TV, an empty can of coke near them, while watching Planet of the Apes for the millionth time.

Cat seems a bit uneasy in seeing Theon there, again, “Hello, Theon, how are you doing?”

“Magnificently, missus Stark! - he gives her a big smile – And you all?”

“Just went for a bit of shopping.”, Ned comments, serious, looking at the room as if something doesn't convince him in the ruffled blanket or how tense his son seems to be looking at him.

“How do you feel, Robb?”, he asks.

“All fine, thanks. Theon dropped by for the math homework and then we... sort of decided to watch a movie.”

“Why don't you stay for dinner? - Sansa asks, smiling, as if she got a bit more of hope and courage back – Mom will make some fish.”

“Well, I... - she feels trapped and smiles – I most surely will, if Theon pleases.”

“Sure, sure, why not?”

Bran moves in slowly on the chair and look at the movie, “Cool! Can I watch it too?”

Robb is about to reply but Theon is quicker, “Sure! - he hopes this will clear the doubtful look away from Ned's stern face – We are just at the part in which they are about to catch them!”

Arya rolls her eyes: why picking sci-fi when pirate movies existed?

They leave the room soon, leaving their boys to their monkeys, and Robb sighs in relief, resting his head against the mattress’ side.

“That was... scary.”

Bran looks at both of them, then asks Robb to take him down from the chair and put him between the pillows on the ground, 'cause it was softer and, while Theon helps, he stares at both of them and mumbles, a bit done, like children who have to take care of adults' tantrums sometimes sound, “Did you make peace, then?”

Theon smirks and tickles Bran's belly, “Oooh, we have a mastermind here!”

“You were worried about us?”

“Maybe. - Bran looks before at Robb then at Theon, as in a subtle threat – My brother is too kind, but if you break up with him, I'm gonna punch you.”

Theon blinks, the kid impresses him and he nods, “Got it.”

Robb gets slightly stiff, “Wait, how many of you know?”

“Me, Sansa, Jon... - he seems to be reflecting – I think mom sort of knows but doesn't want to. And Rickon has guessed a couple of times, but Sansa always redirected him.”

“You are not very subtle, are you?”, Theon snickers.

“You didn't get it, so what does that make you?”, Bran points out.

Robb seems troubled.

“Mom is so against it?”, he lets out in a pained worry.

Bran shrugs, “It's mom. She'll settle for it in the end.”

Theon swallows and stands up, nervous, “I'll go down to get us some orange juice. Wait for me.”

Bran looks at him exiting the room and waits a couple of seconds before speaking.

“You should say it at least to dad, though.”

When Theon reaches the kitchen, he finds Sansa there, helping her mother with the cooking and she gives him a huge smile and runs to him. As she hugs him, without any embarassment, Theon realizes something is up.

“You seem... happy?”

“Of course! - she jumps smiling – You and Robb made up.”

Catelyn pretends not to be listening as she cuts the onions and puts them to fry slightly with the herbs.

Theon shows her a shy smile, “We did... he was a bit afraid you would have... reacted badly.”

She shakes her head, “I told him I would have been happy. - she looks at her mom and says – Come here, tell me everything in the corridor, please please! That little prude will be all secretive!”

“Leave your brother's friend alone, darling.”

“Oh, please!”

Theon smiles, “I'll steal the princess just for a minute. - he says, taking Sansa in the corridor for a moment under the perplexed look Cat gave both of them - ...are you really fine?”

Sansa's eyes are shining as she speaks, “When I saw you two in the room, I understood. - she claims, proud – This morning was a mess, he confessed but you got scared of this forbidden love, but then you walked from the window and came in, like Romeo, sweeping Juliet from her feet and... oh, it's so romantic!”

Theon smiles, shaking his head.

“I thought... you'd be...”

“Heartbroken?”, she seems serene.

“Sorta. - he shrugs – I mean, I am quite the catch.”

She pinches his arm and he lets out a little shriek, “You're cute, Theon, but true love always wins. And if you are Robb's true love, then you are not mine. - she curls her lips in a little smile – But this doesn't mean he is not out there, waiting for me. It just means I have to wait a bit longer.”

Theon scratches his nape, “I suppose... that's a way to see it... a very mature way, actually.”

Sansa turns, “But I do have to ask something.”

“Sure...”

“Does Robb dislike me still for liking you?”

Theon smiles, god, they really are similar those two: a knight in shining armour and a sweet lady of the flowers.

“He was worried sick about telling you and you feeling sad, San.”

She seems reassured and pinches Theon again, “Don't break up with him, though.”

“... you are the second sibling to threaten me today.”

“Good. - she smiles, proud – I count on you not to fuck it up.”

Theon frowns, “...I am not the safest bet for this kind of thing?”

“Try to be!”, she half-sings, throwing him in sheer panic.

“I'm not a responsible adult!”

Catelyn gives the two kids a worried look, wondering if she should question before Sansa or Robb about what was going on with them and the Greyjoy kid.

She remembers still the day he popped up uninvited in their lives, ready to always pull Robb in some irresponsible game or some reckless adventure, making him all of a sudden a bit less well-behaved, giving him all that fascination with him. She sighs, that kid had all the ingredients to become like his father and god knows if she hated the prospective of one of her babies to get close to a new Balon.

She cuts the tomatoes in little bits and wishes to keep her children shielded.

As she was not, as a teenager, from people who turned out to be not the friends they presented themselves as...

Her fingers tremble and she puts the fish in the pan and let its flesh turn from pearly to a dull white.

Her Robb was too kind-hearted and too merciful and sweet to avoid bad company.

And Sansa too romantic.

She sighs, breaking the fish, annoyed.

Dinner time arrives quite too quickly for Catelyn, but her kids seem to have almost experienced starvation in the waiting considering how gluttonously they fill their mouths, especially the small ones. Her husband helps Rickon with the bigger bites and pets his head to compliment when he does a good job, while Robb sits between Theon and Bran and helps the latter with things he won't ask for like the water on the opposite side of the table or the sauce he can't turn well to grasp.

Theon stares at Robb almost with adoration; Catelyn stiffens and hardens as she recognizes in that look the one Neds gives her. She shivers and tries to sound calm.

“So, Theon, how is your family doing?”  
“Ah, umh, my sister is fine. - he seems confused by the question, miss Stark rarely asked about that - She is a bit preoccupied with the family business, she wants to... take care of it.”

“Oh, that's admirable. And you? What have you been up to lately?”  
“...nothing special? School?”

Robb lights up, enthusiastic, “Theon is working on a work of art, mixed painting and sculpture, for the finals. It's amazing, you should see it, he is full of talent!”

Ned seems impressed, “Really?”

Catelyn feels a thorn in her chest, “Oh, an artist, well- you always had that... charm, I guess, with girls. Robb has a lot of girls who look at him too, but he seems to be too busy to give them attention too.”

“Mom...”

“You should go out with someone. - she insists – What about that adorable girl, the one who I give piano lessons to? Jeyne.”

Robb's stomach tenses, “Mom, we spoke about it...”

“Or Sansa's friend, that Margie! She looks so cute and smart.”

Sansa intervenes, “Oh, but she is... she is already with another boy, mom. I am sure she is not really interested...”

Theon looks at his dish, cutting the fish in small bites, mixing it with the sauce. He can feel his throat going dry and small, closing up and the light abandoning him.

Robb is tense to the point of anger, but what can he say? He just looks mortified and small.

He loves his mother so much...

“Mom, please... don't play matchmaker, I really don't feel comfortable with it.”

“The boy is right. - his father says, firmly, turning to his wife and giving her a knowing subtle look hidden between an endeared smile – You can't force love on him.”

“I was just worried...”

“Of what?”, Arya asks, biting into her fish.

“Of him to turn out like me...”

Theon meant to whisper, but for once, fucking once, in the whole time he had been there, there suddenly was silence at the Stark's table and everyone heard him.

He goes pale and so does Cat, quickly laughing it off, “Oh, of course not! I just want... my son to be happy.”

“Mom, I am.”

Robb says it staring at her in the eyes, while under the table his hand found Theon's.

He holds it, firmly.

His mother looks confused. Theon's eyes widen in surprise and joy and an annihilating sensation of emptiness under his feet.

Robb doesn't break his hold.

“I am happy, you don't have to worry for me.”

Sansa smiles and she clenches her fingers a bit, trying to tell herself not to cry and repeating herself the words she told Theon.

Love was out there, she was fine, she was not alone, she was not going to be alone.

After all, she loves her brother and his happiness more than she does love Theon. Theon is not meant for her and she knows.

She knows he is not the one.

She just has to give her heart the time to fully understand it.

Theon catches her sad look, the blue eyes taking the shade of a rainy sea, as she tries to focus on the dinner and not on the empty air.

And he gets why Cat worries.

And he wishes his mother worried the same.

Maybe she'd question Robb, ask how he is, if he is well-behaved.

Maybe she'd come to like him only after some time.

If she could care, if she could remember... his eyes fill up with tears before he can notice, and before he can realize they are dropping on his dish in fat little bubbles. Bran looks at him surprised, as if he didn't know that Theon could cry.

Rickon started sniffing too, at the sight, out of imitation, and Ned held him a bit closer.

Sansa tried to whisper something but fell mute and Catley's glance got sterner, as if she were angry at herself for the pity she was coming to feel.

Robb was the last one to notice, he turns in the direction everyone is looking and sees Theon with the face digged by two rivers of salt.

“Theon-”

“I should go to Asha... - he says, low-voiced – I should tell her about today.”

Robb's heart stings and he swallows the pain, caressing Theon's shoulder now careless of the eyes on them.

“I'll come with you, you can't drive alone in this state.”

“Your dinner. - he tries to pull off a smile, but the corners of his mouth refuse, and refuse and refuse stubbornly any nail of pride, they fall after little again down – You can't waste it.”

“You are more important. - he turns to his family – Mom, keep it warm, I'll eat it all when I return, I promise.”

She looks away but says there is no problem.

They are halfway through the door, when Ned comes to them and mumbles something in Robb's ear, surprising him, and the letting them both free. Theon frowns, but doesn't ask until they enter in the car, silently, looking at the wet glass and making the windscreen wipers make their little mechanical dance.

“What... did your father say?”

“That he will talk to mom. - he sighs – But I am not sure what he meant.”

“Probably he will ask her not to give you any extra dates.”

“Are you offended?”  
“Just a bit.”

“She doesn't know we are together, Theon.”  
“If she knew, she'd set you up on way more dates.”

Robb can't contradict him, so he just shuts up and nods, driving Theon home as slowly as he can, to make sure their time together is longer.

“I'm sorry for your mom... - he says, weakly – But, you know, doesn't mean she will never recognize you... it was... just this time.”

Theon tries to give Robb a sympathetic smile to show him he appreciates the care but he gives off just a sarcastic grimace.

“Theon...”

“Yes?”

“I... would like to tell my parents about us.”

Theon turns to him, terrified and screams, “What?!”  
“...I expected sort of a different reaction, I admit.”

“They loathe me, they despise me and we are together since a day!”

“But I’ve loved you since years. - he seems to pout but then he forces himself to sound like an adult – Also, they don't exactly loathe you...”

“Robb.”

“... they just don't know you enough to...”

“Robb.”

“... okay, maybe they don't like you a lot. - he gives up, but his eyes are too big and too blue and too cute for Theon to feel any closer to victory – But I love you, they'll have to... accept it, and stop expecting me to go out with Jeyne Westerling.”

“She is cute, though.”

“You are cuter.”, he says, without flinching.

Theon smiles and then smirks, “Want me to give you a blowjob while you drive?”

“N-O.”, Robb orders, firmly, eyes magnetized on the road, responsibly.

Theon laughs a bit to himself, because he is dating the human version of a golden retriever and he is just so adorable.

And he tries to ignore the pain in his heart when he thinks about how fragile it all is and how he could ruin everything and how Robb's heart could move to someone else.

How replaceable and forgettable he is.

“I have to make sure you always think I'm the cutest.”

“I'll always think you are the cutest. - Robb promises – Also if we don't die horribly in a car crash.”

“Are you really really sure?”

“Ah-a.”  
“Okay, then I'll spare our lives. For now.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Theon tastes it a bit, that 'baby' and he decides he likes it.

It's a bit too sweet and tastes like too much coke and ice cream and old movies and Danny Zuko and the rain over them while they swim.

But it tastes like Robb and it tastes like happiness.

He sorta has to still figure that out: that now Robb will be his happiness and not his sadness.

Baby, Boyfriend, those are strange things to him. But he closes his eyes and thinks he likes them, after all. He likes them a lot.

He stops relaxing only when he hears the phone ringing with an email – he squints his eyes and look at it quickly: from the Art Academy with an invitation from a professor to send a portfolio. He doesn't remember knowing any professor or sending any personal information.

R. Bolton.

He shrugs, for now the only name with an R he can think of is driving him home.

 


	7. Chapter 7

** 7\. A veil without a bride, pride without veins **

* * *

 

When Robb parks down in front of Theon's home, it's like he’s seeing it for the first time. He looks at it now, understanding their doubts and all the signals: all the times they played in the garden as kids when Theon would roll over him and was a bit too close, all the times that Balon yelled at them, calling them “weak girly things in boys' clothes” and how for Theon that always meant not touching him for a couple of days, how whenever he slept over – very rarely, because Balon was not a big fan nor of him nor of his own son, so they usually spent the night at Robb's house, where at least asking for movies and snacks was not a stroll through hell – Theon would insistently avoid him under the blanket and sometimes overreact when he elbowed his stomach to get him to stop an innocent tickle fight, how... how had he not seen? How was he so focused on his own pain, on his own unrequited love to miss his best friend's heart screaming in front of him?

He holds the stirring wheel, his knuckles white and he hopes Theon will forgive him one day.

Now he knows he has to take care of him, of those emotions, to shield him from all the loneliness he threw him in.

“Theon-”

“Yes?”, he replies, uninterested, while he ruffles his hair and puts in the bag any clothes his father wouldn't approve of to put on a giant grey T-shirt Balon had probably gotten in a supermarket.

“Is your father home?”

“Not sure. - he mumbles – Lately he is always out drinking, but I don't want to risk it.”

Robb doesn't feel like leaving him alone, not after that day, and knows if Balon is home his presence would just aggravate him and make him treat Theon like shit.

But if Balon is not there... Theon would be alone, maybe with Asha, but they rarely talked for real and she...

“Can I stay if he is not there?”

“What?”

Theon looks quite terrified.

“Just for a movie. - Robb swears – Just a movie, nothing more.”

Theon seems tempted; he lowers his eyes and nods. He is not exactly excited at the idea of spending the night with Asha, also because she always wants to watch action movies or those big race car competitions and he hates those.

“Look, the internet works like shit, so it could stop like legit 30 times.”

“I can... kiss you during those times?”

Theon smirks, “Was that your plan, Mister Stark?”

Robb looks at him like he is a dream come true, lowers his eyes lids, lets go of the wheel and whispers, “I love it when you call me that.”

Theon's grin gets thinner and he sucks his lips ever so slightly.

His eyes shine, wicked, malicious. 

Robb swallows, his Adam's apple startling at the sight.

“On one condition.”

He nods, automatically, as Theon's lips bend in those words. He could ask anything right now and he would be up for it.

“No sex under this roof.”

Robb shakes his head, he expected quite a different turn on this one, “What?”

“If my dad caught us, I can say goodbye to you and the art academy. He'd send me to military school.”

Robb sighs, “I know, I mean... I was not counting on it...”

“He must never discover it, clear?”

“Crystal.”

Theon smiles, “As for Asha...”

“Shouldn't we tell her?”

“... she sorta knows about last night.”

“Oh.”

Theon looks suddenly really young and meek, “So, I suppose, she will guess by seeing us together that... we...”

“Got together?”

“Clarified.”

Robb frowns, “Hi, commitment issues, I’ve missed you.”

Theon looks away, “Oh, c'mon, I never had a person, I just had sex. You know that. - he protests – It's a bit... weird.”

“To think about being monogamous?”

“To think it's real having you.”, he shuts him up and as he realizes what he is saying he flicks Robb's forehead with his finger in panic.

“Ahia!”

“Dont' turn me all mushy!”

“I didn't do anything!”

Theon rushes on Robb's lips, kissing him deeply, taking up space in his mouth and filling it, powerful, overbearing, invading him. Robb can feel his blood getting thicker, while he grabs Theon's waist and proceeds to invert their powers, moving his tongue against Theon's and then pressing the game back into Theon's mouth, making him move his hips in a sweet motion of approval and arousal.

Theon opens a smirk as Robb breaks the kiss to lowers himself and starts sucking his skin, leaving deep blue and purple marks, biting the red out of him. Theon’s fingers run through the other’s curls, encouraging and yet controlling Robb's force and redirecting him. Robb's tongue feels amazing riding his collarbones, down his chest, as his hands start breaking the neck of that awful shirt and tearing apart its thin cotton.

Theon smiles wider, when Robb's hand, still on his waist, leaves it to rush to the zip of his trousers and... then dies out as someone knocks on the window of the car.

They turn and find Asha, waving at them like they were two children on a merry go round, with a ridiculously big grin on her whole face screaming “gotcha”.

Robb goes pale and stutters something, while Theon has an expression betraying an inner shrieking of biblical proportions.

Asha signals them to lower the window and Robb just sort of obeys without understanding why.

“Well well.”

“Good- good evening, Asha.”

“I see you never forget your manners. - she smiles – I wonder if that wouldn't be counter-productive in bed. - she eyes quickly Theon's neck – Oh, my bad, I stand corrected.”

“What the fuck are you doing here!”, Theon screams, regaining himself.

“Making you avoid a charge for obscene acts or indecent exposure. One can see you, mister Stark cleans his windows quite well.”

“I- just- goddammit.”

Asha wiggles her eyebrows, “So... this is what it’s like, umh?”

Theon seems to shiver, “What do you mean?”

“...that you made up?”

“Yeah...”

Robb frowns, looking over Theon with worried eyes.

“May I offer you two something inside? - Asha winks – A beer, cookies, a cold shower...?”

“I'd love the beer, thank you.”

“God, you are so hopeless sometimes. - she turns to Theon – You really are the bad boy of the two, and this is quite depressing.”

“Would you even approve of me dating anybody else?”, he rolls his eyes and steps out of the car.

Robb looks around, confused.

“I cheered for you for a long time.”, Asha explains, mouthing.

“I really appreciate that.”

“Do you two want cookies and tea with your chit-chat?”, Theon grumbles, storming towards the house, embarrassment making his ears red.

“He is a bit of a child with me around... - she comments, huffing – Sorry I interrupted you but I didn't want my father to be the one to see it.”

“I realized.”

“He probably didn't yet. - she chuckles – Maybe I was too mischievous as a kid, he keeps doubting me and stubbornly resisting me like a bull.”

Robb laughs in a low voice, “He pushes me in the same way. He is wilful, more than he seems. He never gives up.”

“Sometimes I wish he did. - she admits, looking at Theon opening the door – If he gave up our dad's approval, at least, he'd be more serene.”

“Is it so bad?”

“Not every parent loves all of their children. - she mumbles, taking out of her pocket a cigarette box, the same brand Theon smokes, Robb notices – At least, he has mom.”

“...today, she...”

“I know. - her eyes get a bit duller – Or, better, I guessed. He probably drove to you out of sadness. But he still will know she loved him more than of any of her children.- she smiles sadly – And he has an idea of such a love and can search for it in someone else. - her eyes stop on Robb and he seems surprised – You can be loved only if you remember what being loved feels like.”

Somehow, Robb feels like there is something she is not telling him, but he nods, because he knows that’s what Asha wants. 

To Theon, that might be the start.

To Theon, he might be rushing.

But he does not care.

He had been waiting for years for Theon to belong to him, he waited for years to call him 'mine' and hold him and keep him under his lips and wings.

He won't let him leave unloved from him.

“Do you two plan to move or to live near the car?”, Theon asks, trying to sound sarcastic and cool but losing it at the second word.

Asha laughs and smoke covers her teeth and flies into the cool night.

“Not gonna steal him, don't worry, he is too much of a goody-goody.”

“I am not...”

“Oh, please, if you were redder, I'd mistake you for a jar of jam.”

Theon crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow and Robb rushes to him, asking sorry, putting a hand on his hips and Theon complains a bit more just to pull him along to his room. Asha smiles, shakes her head and mixes smoke and stars.

“There are microwaveable popcorns in the kitchen.”, she tells them.

Theon scrambles between his dvds and looks for some good stuff but, upon finding nothing fitting the mood, he gives up when Robb suggests to try streaming something. Theon's internet actually does work poorly, but Robb just enjoys his low curses and the pauses of the buffering video.

He tastes the slow night burn on Theon's skin, the sweat raising and the salty scent of him, which he catches in his lips, kissing his shoulders, back and ribcage from time to time, furtively, quick.

And Theon knows they are two hungry kids and he likes to see Robb being as needy as he is.

They barely watch the movie at all, they pick some crappy thing with a robot shark that tries to destroy a city but the daughter of the main character sends it twitter PMs until the shark trusts her or something, and Theon picked it to mock it but Robb has less appreciation for ironically watching crap and keeps distracting Theon, biting little patches of soft skin, calls for attention silently and manages to steal kisses from Theon more often than they should. They put headphones on when Balon arrives home, not to bother him, but they keep failing as their kisses get deep and Robb caresses Theon's face or Theon rushes with his arms around Robb's neck.

They don't laugh and avoid making noise, keeping their voices whispered and light as ghosts.

Robb would tickle Theon's hip and Theon would pass his tongue on Robb's earlobe.

Theon's mobile rings again and he moves to look at the number: unknown, anonymous. He frowns.

“Umh, maybe your family called?”

“I doubt. - Robb smiles, nuzzling against him – My dad said he would have talked to my mom about stopping matchmaking me.”

“Nice of him.”

“You think he... knows?”

“Sansa does. - Theon mumbles – Before, in the kitchen, she seemed to... know it all... I admit it was a bit freaky how enthusiastic she was about it.”

“You mean her crush and her brother fucking?”

“Maybe it's easier for her like this than, I don't know, me going out with another girl.”

“Makes sense. - Robb lays down – I mean, one side, though, it's frustrating, because it means you can't even compete, you know? That's how I felt, at least.”

Theon smiles, “Yeah, but one side, it means she is not less than another person I picked, you know?”

“That sound too complicated. - Robb mumbles – So basically just my parents don't know.”

“And Rickon, but I'm not sure he knows about the difference between girls and boys yet.”

“He thinks girls are the ones who want to be singers and boys the ones who want to be pilots. - he sighs – Society is way less complicated in his mind.”

Theon furrows his eyebrows and stares at Robb, perplexed.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when we will tell people, maybe we will ha...”

“Wait, wait, tell who?”, Theon almost laughs, scoffing.

“...well, friends? Family? Not your dad of course, but-”

Theon seems horrified, while his smirk gets bigger and thinner, “Or... we could, you know, not fast forward and rush into this? - he laughs sharply – We just... did it, I don't, you don't, we don't even know what we are. I mean, what should I do? Come out as a bisexual and have people think I'm actually a faggot?”

“Didn't you fuck girls around enough for them to consider otherwise?”

Robb really doesn't want to seem passive-aggressive, but it comes out so bitter anyway and he can't stop feeling stupid after.

“You know how people are when it comes to bisexuality, no, thank you. Not gonna be the town fag.”

“Theon, I never had any girl before you, in case anyone has to be the fag, it would be me. - he explains, trying to be calm – I'd be the one labelled.”

“No, you won't. - Theon stands up from the bed – No, you won't. You don't have long hair and a pretty face, you don't like silk and don't pay attention to what you wear, you don't put on eyeliner, you don't have a little butt and skinny jeans, you don't flirt with anyone, you aren't provocative, you aren't a lone wolf, you aren't hated, Robb.”

Theon's eyes tremble slightly and he seems to just want to run away.

Robb stares at him and tries to take his hand, but Theon doesn't let him.

“You are the one in baggy clothes and flannel shirts, you are the one with short hair and a bit of a stubble, you are not gonna be the faggot. No matter if you never sunk into pussy or ever will, nobody would look at us and make a joke about you.”

“Nor would they about you. - Robb promises, holding Theon's shoulders – Because if they dare, I'll punch them in the face.”

Theon snorts, “You wouldn't punch anyone in the face.”

“I would for you.”

Theon swallows his fears and tries to smile, playing it off, perhaps fine perhaps just good enough for Robb to believe him. Limelights were off and the weak yellow lamp in his room allows him to seem firmer.

“That's very 90s and romantic of you.”

“Thank you for acknowledging my vast ability to get inspired by Julia Roberts movies.”

“If you climb the fire stairs to come to me, I'll make sure to kick you down from them.”

“What if I hold red roses?”

“I'd keep the roses. Flowers are expensive.”

“Wouldn't you let me in?”

“Hmm, maybe. - he smirks, caressing Robb's arms – Most probably, yes.”

“Look, I'm sorry, I just want to...”

“...show me off?”

“Mark you.”, Robb replies, briefly.

And somehow that admission makes Theon's knees a bit weak and makes him bite his lips slowly.

He exposes his neck, “Then leave a very dark one.”

“Can I?”

“And when they go away, you'll make them again, make a collar of bruises for me. - Theon's fingertips caress Robb's full, soft lips – But remember, having me marked also means you can't drop me.”

Robb wants to grant he won't, but he knows Theon won't believe him. So he just closes his eyes and places his lips near Theon's ear, on his soft and tense deer neck and sucks, now pulling the flesh with the teeth, now simply with his lips, insisting as if he had to suck all the blood and life out of that little straw of skin.

Theon moves under him, his neck squirming, his pulse getting faster as his breath breaks and cracks. He pants and slowly rubs his hips against the air, moving his waist in a twisted motion.

He suffocates moans as he feels Robb's tongue and lips descending, leaving other traces on his whole neck.

A constellation of bites, wanted bites, bites to make him feel wanted, tasted, consumed. Bites to make him disappear in the desire others had for him.

If Robb could have feasted on him and then he could have remained inside that mouth, that... that felt wrongly safe in a way.

In a way, he wouldn't have been abandoned.

“God, I'm sorry... - Robb whispers, before pushing Theon against the wall and putting himself in front of him – I can't.”

“You can't what- oh.”

He can feel Robb hard against him.

He blinks slightly, swallows, unsure of what to do – he also wants it and Robb is so, well, tense against his jeans and he feels so big. He wonders if his dad would hear, if he'd enter in the room suddenly. He should ask Robb to rush to close it with the key, but he doesn't. He grabs Robb's face and pushes it against his own, pushing to make space for his tongue in his mouth, in a greedy, eager kiss, tasting like urgency and moonlight.

He moans, Robb pushes, he starts rubbing against Theon, clumsily, yet it feels good.

Like fire rushing through veins.

He moves his hips up and down and in circles, he humps the hill forming under Theon's pants. The friction of the jeans feels good and somehow the constriction results pleasing.

Robb's neck is tense and he grunts, his lips bending in an intense, focused expression. Theon moves his hand down, pulls down their jeans and lets their erections touch.

Robb arches his back in a low groan and his shaft stiffens, harder.

Theon smirks, rubbing himself against Robb, feeling their cocks touching, each vein and nerve on fire for the sin conducting pleasure deep inside them.

He takes them both in his hand and start massaging their heads, pressing on them, making Robb's face lit up in red and his own breath become ardent.

Robb presses a kiss and their tongues entwine half out of their own mouths, like beasts who don't know their own limits anymore.

From there, there were no outlines or boundaries.

Theon, Robb, what did it matter? The air between was still them, the air between needed to be filled with their smouldering breaths.

Robb pulls Theon's face close and kisses him deeper, Theon moves it and so his hips and hands, he is smooth, graceful and ruthless. At every shock of pleasure, he feels Robb's knees begging to rest and at every one of them his jerks get faster, making him moan and need more release.

In a way he finally understood Ros now. Men really were way easier than girls to play with.

He digs into Robb's taste, he sinks in his smell.

Robb's hands on his dimples of Venus make Theon arch and open his mouth in a breathy moan. Robb presses on them, on his ass, goes between the thighs and plays with his sweaty fresh skin.

Theon breathes in Robb's scent and kisses his neck, leaning his head against it.

He can feel blood and need pool in his balls, needing to burst under the touch. He can feel Robb's shaft also tense, the veins of both their cocks filled with sparks, ready to let go, while their tumid sensitive heads rubbed desperately one against the other.

Robb admires Theon's face, flushed, his mouth bent in undeniable arousal, he looks like breathing is hard, his lungs filled with air and yet he pants and moans. 

He stares down at him and god, he adores him. Theon's skinny body, with the weird rib shadows and the iliac crest that seems like it’s drawn, the little waist and his erected cock begging for attention – his face shining red with heat, his eyes with a slutty gleam.

Theon's agape mouth makes Robb's brain rush to a thousand thoughts and thousand scenarios, it makes his arousal grow, he almost wishes he had the courage to push that head down on it for him to suck him dry.

As their eyes interlock, Robb wonders if Theon could read his mind because his voice sounds like molten lava and melted sugar as he stares into him and half-orders, “Shag me.” .

“Won't need you to repeat that.”

He grabs him from behind the waist and brings him into a kiss, violet and violent, charged in need, in haste, in their lips big and their breaths short. Theon smirks into the kiss and pulls with his teeth Robb's lips, making him curse so softly.

Robb throws him on the bed and goes to close the door with the key, making sure not to make any extra noise. Theon nods, slowly, as to confirm his consent, and takes his jeans completely away.

His pale legs look whiter under the dim light of the moon, in Robb's head there is only space for the thunderous din of his heartbeat and the silence left by it.

He rushes to the covers and sheets, catches Theon in his arms, but gets interrupted.

“Ah-a, tiger. This time, I'd like some help.”

He bows slightly and takes from a big drawer under the bed a bottle. Robb can't avoid noticing the magazines filled with girls next to the bottle.

Theon is not sure why he looks dubious and hesitant, “It's lube.”

Robb looks in the void of the dark blue sheets.

He thinks about the women Theon used that on, he thinks about him sliding inside their asses softly after fucking their cunts – he clenches his fists at remembering when once Theon explained to him how to eat a girl out, thinking his virginity was still a thing because of some sort of prude upbringing.

He clenches his teeth and pushes Theon against that sheets, deep, as to make him drown, and goes on top of him. He kisses him frantically, egoistically, pulls the lips and pushes down his hands.

He feasts on his skin, kissing it rushed and yet persistent, lingering on the nipples, on the lines of the bones, letting his tongue slide over the softness.

Theon’s crotch begs for attention and Robb starts jerking it with his right hand, making Theon squirm, but without seeming to have any intention to enter just yet.

Theon rubs his hips, thrusts them, now lewd now frantic.

His eyes glow like embers from the pleasure expected and yet not relished.

“ _Robb_ , - he almost purrs – Robb, c'mon.”

He caresses Theon's groin with his big hand and rubs his red cock to full hardness, watching him twist and writhe under him.

Robb smiles at the view, pours lube on his fingers – it's sticky and cold, but it doesn't matter. With one hand he is still mercilessly pleasuring without satisfaction Theon's erection, while the other starts taking space inside him.

At the first finger, Theon arches his back and opens his mouth in a mute scream of bliss.

At the second, he starts moving against it and he is tight and Robb curses to himself for how hard he is.

At the third, Theon is clenching the sheets, his knuckles tense and white, he bites his lips and lolls his eyes, bending his head back. 

He suffocates every scream, knowing they could be heard, they could hear him, but does he care now?

He can just feel Robb everywhere on and inside him.

With Robb's cock at his entrance ready to thrust, with Robb's eyes staring at him like he is a godly apparition, with Robb loving him – does he care?

His fingers reach Robb's face and caress his cheeks. He closes his eyes, tries to contain himself and leans against one of them.

“Are you ready?”, he asks, gently, but with a voice so hoarse Theon can say he’d made every effort he could to not rush.

“Yes. - he moves forward, kissing him, and ending up having his fingers deeper inside – Kind of waiting for you to fuck me.”

He puts his arms around Robb's neck, holding onto him. Robb thrusts deep, opens his flesh, tears him in pleasure and Theon gasps silent. He lets his head fall back, he closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling again.

Robb's cock feels huge, almost painful inside, and he can feel his guts burn at every movement.

It feels good, he can feel his muscles keeping it in, begging him to stay and at the same time to break their tight resistance with its girth. They ask to be broken, to come undone.

Robb pushes hard, thrusts in deep like he had to dagger him and Theon is shaken by waves of pleasure at every time his meat is pierced and opened.

He can feel Robb grabbing his hips, making him fit even more against him – are those his balls? Theon feels a weird hot delight in thinking he took all of Robb in, all of him, inch by inch up his ass. Taken, defeated, owned.

He smiles and Robb caresses his black soft locks falling on the side.

“Faster?”

“Faster.”

Robb doesn't need Theon to repeat himself and lowers himself down, sinking deeper into him and reaching for his lips with his mouth. He forces a strong kiss, while Theon keeps opening his mouth, in uncontrolled moans and automatic trembles, at every single strong thrust.

Robb's hips move quicker and harsher, making Theon almost scoot, they shake him and make him a mess of wet, dense whines.

Robb drinks them all, swallows them and doesn't stop pushing, going deeper and harder at every fast slam, banging into the soft flesh.

Theon's feet tense, his muscles tortured by delirious pleasure as he gets stretched out around the swollen, hard girth pounding into him with no restraint.

Robb pushes harder, until he feels Theon under him shivering and writhing more than before- he looks at him, his eyes are wide open and so his lips, with no words coming out. His Adam's apple jumps, his sweat runs.

Robb smiles, thrusting in the same point, and enjoying Theon jolting and coming unravelled.

“Do you like it here?”

Theon nods, searching for Robb's lips, catching them, trying to suffocate all the sounds he knows he'll make as Robb thrusts and hits it over and over. At every slam, all his nerves come together, electrified; all the pleasure is white and ardent. 

He sinks his nails into Robb and Robb growls and howls in pleasure inside Theon's mouth.

Robb plunges, shoving himself inside Theon more and more feverish and frenzied, stabbing him deep, making him melt against his cock at every slam.

Theon's tongue hangs out, appetite turned into a wavering messy bliss, his eyes shining in sultry need, as he feels his prostate deliciously smashed under Robb's throbbing erection.

Against the pressure, at an uptenth assault, Theon melts. His hips turn soft, his feet are thrunderstuck, he lays aghast, as again Robb brings him over and beyond any edge, making him come in a puddle of gushed sperm.

He keeps twitching, his cock still half hard and Robb leaves his soft ass and rubs them together, making Theon shout against the pillow, suffocating each sound. He writhes, arches, contorts- and comes again against Robb's cock, topping it in white-ish cum.

Robb is panting still and rubs himself against Theon, reaching the orgasm against the soft skin of his groin.

Theon breathes heavily and Robb can feel his own lungs about as weak.

“Whoa...”, he whispers, staring at Theon, beautiful as ever and now again covered in his marks all over.

“Theon!”

Theon startles and so does Robb, almost falling against him. The voice comes from out the door.

“Y-yes?”

Asha sighs, “Maybe your friend should go home? - she suggests – Dad would like to go to sleep soon and doesn't want...”

“A Stark over night!”, another voice adds in, shouting.

Robb turns to Theon and smiles tenderly as to say it doesn't matter. Theon groans.

It mattters to him.

He can still feel Robb's thick and warm sperm inside him. His muscles sore and his flesh used.

He feels it and himself and the smouldering boiling air around them, embracing them, would turn so cold if he leaves.

“Fine... - Theon replies, harshly defeated – He will go now.”

“I want to see him go out of the door!”

Robb nods and kisses Theon on the lips, quickly, too fast for a goodbye kiss to leave him for the night, too fast for him to dwell into its memory for hours, too fugitive and too rushed. Robb's lips are now away and he feels thirsty as the holy Grail and the wine within leave his mouth.

He dresses with an unwilling urge, hoping not to give Theon's father any reason to want to rush in to check his son.

He fixes his shirt and sighs.

“Good night.”

“Good night...”, Theon repeats, dully.

“I'll miss you.”, Robb promises.

And then Theon pulls him by the shirt and brings him down for a long kiss, filling his mouth and letting their tastes mix. Robb closes his eyes, furrows his eyebrows and digs in for more.

Theon separates with a smug smirk, “Oh, yes, you will.”

Robb breathes in and lets out a low, “I hate you.”

“Hate you too.”, Theon winks.

They kiss again, quickly and Robb goes down to say bye to Asha and let Balon admire him going out of the door, making sure he doesn't come inside again from the window.

Theon is behind the curtains, looking after him. They don't wave to each other, they just look at each other a bit longer – it's not to say goodbye, it's to enjoy it all a bit longer, to linger a second more in each other's company. 

In silence, where voices and hands of others couldn't reach them and pull them apart.

As Robb enters his car, Theon's fingertips touch the window gently.

The fabric of his guts gets torn apart and he closes his eyes to breathe in fully Robb's presence until the morning after.

He goes back to bed, naked, with a slight smile riding his lips, as he realizes.

Robb said he loves him.

He twirls and turns on the side, sucking his lips to hide the idiotic smile while his heart feels warm and at home.

 

Robb:

You were cruel before fyi

 

Theon:

don't text and drive

 

Robb:

are u being the responsible one now?????

 

Theon:

i went through a life-changing sex experience and i want to make sure we can repeat it

 

Robb:

…... I might be very flattered

 

Theon:

might?

Theon:

you should be

 

Robb:

cocky

Robb:

but yes I'm flattered :///)

 

Theon:

glad we worked on your self esteem, maybe you should tell me something too like about how amazing i was how good i felt you cant believe somebody like me exists a true god and so on?

 

Robb:

you are acting cocky again

Robb:

and I think the worst part is you are right

 

Theon:

I know ;)

 

Robb:

look I am a bit awkward with this talk I am not sure what I should say or

Robb:

what sounds weird

Robb:

but

Robb:

You felt amazing inside

Robb:

and I really can't stop thinking about you right now

Robb:

like I am trying to focus on the road and instead I keep thinking about that look you got while sucking me off this afternoon

Robb:

or how amazing you feel when I push into you and all of you seems to keep me there and anchor me and it's so hot like... warm? Not hot sexy, hot warm

Robb:

also hot sexy

 

Theon:

you are really awkward

 

Robb:

thanks

 

Theon:

I find it cute

 

Robb:

:///(

 

Theon:

Keep thinking about me then <3

Theon:

<3 at all inappropriate times

 

Robb:  
So I get a perpetual boner?

 

Theon:

only if you send me vids of you jerking it away <3

 

Robb:

THEON FOR HEAVENS SAKE

 

Theon:

hey I'm a man I have my needs

 

Robb:

look at porn for this stuff

 

Theon:

oh, okay

Theon:

I just thought you wanted to be also my porn

Theon:

would you really be okay with me looking at some blondie's knockers when I jerk off?

 

Robb:

…

Robb:

don't you dare

 

Theon:

good boy <3

 

Robb:

that's how I call Grey

 

Theon:

exactly

 

Robb:

OH C'MON!!!

Robb:

… I arrived home, not sure how much time I'll be stuck with my parents speaking about before

Robb:

I love you ok?

Robb:

in case you fall asleep at least I told you

 

Theon:

You say it a lot

 

Robb:

cus it's true and truth must be said many times

Robb:

Especially to people who tend to forget it

Robb:

I love you

 

Theon:

cheesy

Theon:

<3

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

**NDR: I'm sorry for the delay <3 I had my best friend over for days so I could write only a couple hours a day! Next time I'll be quicker! Hope you enjoyed this and sorry again!!**

* * *

 

** 8\. You won wars you created inside yourself **

* * *

 

Theon Greyjoy wakes up that day knowing he is a damn idiot.

Of course, a Google research proves quite quickly that he needs to start to think.

Ramsay Bolton was the head of the department of painting at the Academy of Arts. He was literally the person he was meant to impress. He asked him for a portfolio and he had no idea who the guy was.

He sinks into his pillow and wishes to just die there, like that, drowned and sunken as the idiot he feels.

Until.

The name tingles his brain as familiar, again, as if he missed a connection. As if a piece of the puzzle is still to be found.

Until and a weird flash crossed him: eyes like dirty ice.

He feels the ground failing him and he sits on the bed. That guy.

He sure did behave well-manneredly - and Robb had been so over the top that day, even if now, knowing Robb actually liked him since then and that it was jealousy, he felt tender while thinking about it; but something about Bolton felt wrong and cold and ran over his spine.

He had no reason to, he is aware, and yet -

He Googles it again, but most of links seem not to work, some videos with his name on them had been deleted. Theon frowns, then laughs it off nervously, “Not creepy at all.” .

But he had asked for his portfolio. It's a huge occasion.

Theon sighs, knowing he can't let it go.

But what would Robb say? He reacted so... roughly last time. Hot rough, but still.

Art Academy, though. That guy could have made him enter easily.

Okay, maybe he did flirt with him a bit, but just a bit and after all if he didn't actually do anything with him but just play a bit and get along making him believe it could happen... then he would have entered the academy easily.

He could... be an artist.

Maybe that guy could tell him if he has any talent.

He couldn't ask Robb, Robb loved him and was the kindest cinnamon roll cake of the planet; he would have told Jon he was nice. Please.

His hands tremble. He needs it. He needs help, he needs answers – he needs art in his fingers and under his palms to feel like something he can do and not like a stupid dream he can't even manage well.

He has to know.

He sinks his nails into his flesh and traces blood.

He stares at Robb's goodmorning text he didn't reply to, to the silence he left him with for a while, trying to grasp the taste of what he wanted. There was emptiness and azure in his mouth.

He got what he wanted and yet he can't stop wondering if he deserves it, if it will stay or he'll lose it. And it scratches the back of his tongue and tastes like defeat and sour candy, eaten too quickly.

He and his rubbish mouth chug down the cold coffee and he takes out a notebook and a pencil.

Something new for a portfolio, hm?

Well, that didn't sound hard – he drew, painted and sculpted a lot in the last two years, so, for sure, now he could produce something good, no? Worth a shot? Something impressive? Recent and flaming and... 

He breaks the pencil in half and grabs the phone.

 

Theon:

hey how is it going

 

Robb:

All fine, planning what to do today...

 

Theon:

you're so subtle

 

Robb:

sooooorry

Robb:

so

Robb:

want to meet?

 

Theon:

how clingy :P

Theon:

what about a trip at the sea?

 

Robb:

I'do love that

 

Theon:

but just you and me, avoid getting emotionally blackmailed by your siblings to let them come

 

The wind blows slowly and there's rain lost and shattered in the air, an indecisive sweet rain, and the clouds are big and gradually melt in the sky, without running. A sweet, calm thundering from the sea, crashing against rocks, wakes him up and brings the salty taste of time melting away in his lungs– Robb rushes to the sea, throws heavy drops in quick motions, jumps to swim deeper and Theon stares at him like how you'd stare at a merman: with awe and yet annihilation burdening your stomach.

He breathes solitude and wonders if he'll ever be like Robb.

Because Robb is pure and amazing and shines under the sun. And he, he drags himself from place to place- a spineless, boneless soul struggling to crawl.

If he could have been anything else, he would have been like Robb.

But he had no choice and no chance.

His soul was different and rotten like the waves of the sea.

And Robb was all the glorious blossoming woods.

He lays down and stares at him, he calls him “Theon, Theon, come here” but he doesn't answer nor move. Because reaching for each other doesn't make them close.

He lays down in a weak spot of sand and lets the sea air invade his lungs.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel full, he can feel alone and safe. After some minutes, water tickles his face and pokes him.

Robb smiles, sun behind his head in a blinding golden halo and he smiles and Theon's heart melts and everything is glistering around.

“Hey.”

“Hey. - he smiles – The water is amazing, you should try it.”

“Nah. - he caresses Robb's leg – I'm feeling a bit lazy.”

Robb descends on him, “Hm, this is news.”

“Quite.”, he laughs.

And Theon wonders if he could erase the pain, if he could create it – how much power does he actually have and how much did he lose for Robb? How weak is he?

Could he sink his fingers into Robb's chest, dig into his flesh and take out the heart?

Would Robb still look at him smiling, he wondered.

Would Robb love him the same?

He welcomes Robb's kiss, his salty wet lips and his tongue invasive and strong. He can feel his arms at his sides and he slowly lowers his knees and opens his legs to make space for him to lay on.

Robb kisses him as if nothing mattered in the universe around and Theon knows.

Under the sheets of sky and in the invisible embrace of a bed without borders, Theon couldn't feel the limits of his own heart.

If loving Robb could have rebuilt him into something new, into something better, maybe he'd have a chance to be at peace. Maybe one day they'd be even and fair and not so mismatched.

He was just a pretty face.

“Theon?”

Robb calls him again.

His voice rings distant and empty.

“I'm here.”, he replies, unsure why.

Time breaks chains and keeps the castles, they used to say in his half-lost village before he moved, but Theon never believed that: the bad doesn't go away, time doesn't leave you just with the good, like some kind of sieve for gold pebbles.

Time was unreal and ineffective. It turned them to ashes of themselves with their same stench and sins still tattooed onto their dust.

And as there was no escape from whom they were, Theon could find no relief in the idea of growing old. That would just take away beauty and sex and the few things he excelled at.

“What's troubling you?”

“I have to make some art works... a professor at the academy wants me to send a portfolio and I wanted to add some new stuff.”

Robb shines, “Theon, but this is great!”

“No, it's not. - he pouts – I can't produce anything. - he admits, unsure with which strength – I can't clear my mind.”

“These have been very full days, maybe you could try to express how you feel about all the changes we went through.”

“But how? That's... happy. Where is the art in joy?”

“That doesn't sound right. - Robb's smile turns sour and sharp and weak – Can't art also be happy? Do you need to be sad to create?”

“Perhaps. I mean... - he stares at Robb and he is unsure of what to say – If there is no struggle, there is no interesting parts. Like a movie.”

“Maybe you just need to find a way to communicate joy, maybe it's just... harder?”

Theon chuckles, “I'm not going to break up with you just to create art if this is what you fear.”

“...maybe, but still.”

He looks slightly annoyed for being unmasked but Theon kisses him and hugs him tenderly.

“I just wish there was more spark in me.”

The sun breaks into a thousand pieces over the waves reflecting and getting swallowed at every wave, remerging more broken and more shiny.

“You are all a spark to me.”

Theon kisses Robb and drinks his salty passion; he feels the sweetness of his arms against his body - the cold water and then the warmth of his skin warmed by the sun.

Robb is paradise, in a way. And also his hell.

And Theon likes it and plays with it like a cat with a mouse filled with dynamite.

The sun makes their hearts discoloured and burning, they feed off each other's smell and their greed thrown in the kiss – they are beasts in the garden of Paradise.

“I love you.”

“Me too. - Theon scoffs as he sees Robb relaxing at the sound of his words – Are you that nervous I won't say so?”

“A bit. - Robb looks away – You always had people, many people. I, though, have loved you and only you.”

“Is that bad?”

“Sometimes I'm not sure if there is difference between you and loving at all.”

Theon chuckles and hides in Robb's kiss.

He tastes like everything he never had before.

Sun melting golden in a dark mouth, in a throat made of coal and the void.

He throws Robb on his side and doodles that, with Robb staring at him, at first confused and then smiling, gently.

The sound of the waves washes away the time.

 

*

 

Asha that day has a weird, sticky sensation at the back of her neck. She feels watched, but she says nothing. She can't, though, put that thought away at all, it stays there as an owl of anxiety over her.

When Theon and Robb pop up at her shoulders, with their arms heavy of art supplies, gold leaf, coal and a heavy smell of paint, she jumps unknowingly. The sound of the slamming door had caught her by surprise and makes her heart race.

“Hey, scaredy-cat.”

“Fuck you. - she mocks, still troubled – What's that stuff for?”

Robb shows his head from behind a giant box, “For an art piece!”

“Cool.”

“I can't wait to see it. - Robb smiles proud – It's gonna be amazing.”

“No doubt, I will make it.”

Asha shakes her head, smiling, “There he goes again.”

Theon looks really proud, “This idea is genius, trust me.”

“Don't you have archery training in the afternoon?”

“Ah. - he pauses – I think I'll end up dropping, for a while. I need to focus on this.”

“Dropping? You can't drop.”, she startles.

“Why not?”

“Well.. - she pauses – Dad.”

Of course.

Asha did not love how their father interfered in their lives and sure she would have loved for him to be more independent from his judgment and love; but their father was also moody and prone to fits of anger and violence and he did, in fact, get drunk very often lately.

He could have not taken it well.

And Asha knew Theon never reacted to Balon's fists.

Robb clenches his own, as he thinks about it.

He never accepted Theon getting punched or hurt, especially by his father, but what was he supposed to do? Theon always asked him to stand it and shut up and he always did.

But now... maybe...

“You should do what's better for you.”

Theon turns and lets out a bitter laugh, “It's fine, it's just archery. It helps me focus and to stay goal-oriented... also I love shooting my arrows at stuff.”

Robb stares at him as a big grin rises on Theon's lips.

“...you...”

Asha laughs on the table, scoffing away all the sadness and welcoming a new tenderness for those two dorks flirting with each other.

They look like they shine for the first time. Theon looks relaxed, happy even.

Her meek rabbit brother.

She passes her hand on her wrists, nervously caressing an old scar between her veins and the transparent fabric of dreams. How much she missed him smiling for real, she could not tell.

“Go up, before dad catches you two with that stuff.”

Theon holds tightly his box and rushes up the stairs, Robb sort of stares at Asha, as if he wanted to ask something but the courage tickles his tongue and then disappears, quite quickly.

Gold, black, molten kisses and empty coal.

In a way, Robb is not sure how 'he' could be the gold.

Theon was always the shiny one, the charming one – he had that way of swaying every girl off her feet. He was elegant, smooth. 

He always felt quite plain in comparison.

It was, after all, no surprise to him that Theon didn't love him. Well, he did, but when he thought he didn't, he was not shocked by the thought.

How could he love him after all?

But yet he did and he did fully and to Theon he was the gold, for how crazy it seemed to him.

He sat on the bed and watched him painting the scene and then modelling it into a sculpture, working on the molten gold effects, to put them in both media.

Robb was not sure he understood, but Theon made sure to explain as much as he could.

He then just observed: Theon's hands, bent and then graceful, holding the clay and the black, painting as if every bit meant the world, his eyes full of attention, shining in a calm flame, his precision, his lips closed tight, tight, not in a smile.

He stared at him and loved him and felt the work under his fingers taking life.

Theon was creating Life.

Robb stared at it wondering how it felt, if life tickled and bruised under his fingertips, if it felt even vaguely like being a god.

Because to him singing was just an act, simple, a gesture rushed and honest – the only one he could really do.

Because nobody was staring at him, expecting him to manage. He had no pressure.

Singing was his wild horse in the prairie. He was no god, he was human, finally allowed to be totally human and totally free.

Theon turns to him, “Cat got your tongue?”

“I was thinking about you, sorry.”

“...I'm here?”, he laughs.

His long black hair is in a ponytail and somehow Robb feels hypnotized by how that little thing dances in front of him when Theon moves his head. He cherishes that weird pendulum.

He moves closer to Theon's neck, biting in, starting to kiss and suck it, eager and harsh.

Theon suffocates his own protest. His hands run on Robb's neck, caressing his veins and curls. He can feel Robb's hands on his hips, now playing with his Venus dimples, now pulling his jeans down.

He smiles into the kiss and licks his lips.

Robb forces his way harder, he takes off the jeans in a sharp motion and unzips his own.

Theon's smirk gets thinner and larger, as he throws Robb on the bed and then grabs the lube.

“Cowgirl or mastery?”

“Eh?”

Theon stares at him with tender pity and shakes his head.

“Do you want to see my face or my ass?”

“...face.”

“You're fucking cheesy.”

Theon bows on Robb's cock and torments it enough to get it to stand straight, he licks the whole shaft and takes it in his mouth, while masturbating his own. Robb stares down, swallowing hard.

He can feel his cock melting under Theon's tongue, in his warm mouth. He can close his eyes and feel just pleasure in waves and constant tides, hitting him from tip to balls.

Brought to the edge, he puts his hand on Theon's face, pushing it closer, moving his hips too. Theon moans, his mouth getting fucked slowly enough for him to feel every inch of Robb's dick opening him and taking all the space he needs in his mouth.

He hates to admit it to himself, he'd love if Robb threw him some words, right there...

He separates and sinks two fingers into his ass, lubing it, before topping also Robb's cock with a generous squirt of gel.

His hands were still dirty of paint as he put them on Robb's shoulder and leg to help position himself. Robb could see scallions of gold and black on his skin.

Theon's big and long hands held onto him, but he did not look afraid as he slowly sat, letting Robb's cock slide into him. Robb bit his lips, catching himself close to moving, and, painfully, he forced himself to wait. But, damn, Theon was a sight.

He left him breathless, enchanted, on fire.

Theon whimpers, hardly keeping his eyes open, as Robb's cock sinks into him, stretching him – filling him up and pushing his walls apart. He can feel everything inside him set on fire by bliss.

Robb is so big that Theon wonders if he'll ever get used to it, after all. 

He quietly hopes not to.

The tense muscles, the way his ass has to welcome him, the way he wants it so much even if he knows it's going to tear him open... There is this vulgar, weird pleasure in the slight pain before he gets all filled up, to the brink, like a greedy whore.

He is not supposed to like it, but he does.

Maybe because it's Robb and he'd never think of him that way.

As he starts moving, up and down, letting part of the shaft slip out just to fuck himself on it again, letting it enter deeper, Robb starts moaning.

Theon sucks his lips, enjoying that power – the way Robb's face looked, as if he couldn't move a muscle without losing completely control, sweat on his forehead and his lips parted showing a tense word chocked up in his mouth, silenced by pleasure.

Theon bites the corner of his lips and smirks, confident, suddenly smug. He lets out some moans, a bit acute, as he fucks himself over that greedy needy cock, and, god, how Robb looks when he hears his voice like that.

He places his hands on Theon's hips and they shiver a bit, he hesitates and then grabs them with force, making him drench in excitement.

Robb slams into him, thrusts balls deep and back in and out, excited, ferocious, blinded.

Theon holds onto him, digs his teeth into Robb's neck, moves his loins on his own, voraciously greedy for every thrust he can get. He can feel his cock growing harder and needier, his tip almost burns in the need to come.

Robb misses his words, his lips quiver reddish, and then he slams harder, burying all his moans and groans into thrusts. Theon's ass feels tight and hot around him, and it's so amazing.

Moving in Theon, stuffing him and marking him while that atrociously hot flesh begs his cock to stay in and then bang faster... 

He can feel Theon's voice getting wet, thick, his moans crush one after the other, overlap and gather up, as he rides Robb's cock until his own edge.

Robb thrusts too, quicker and quicker, while Theon's movements become uncoordinated by pleasure, while arousal makes it harder for him to move. He arches his back and gasps for air, while Robb holds his wrists tight.

And slams. And then again, and again. And again.

He slams in, he tears him open and Theon lets his mouth unravel in moans and groans and his eyes run to the ceiling while his tongue drops out of his lips.

Robb pulls his ponytail, making him arch the back more and feel him whole again anew inside him. Robb is all in, all of him, Theon can now feel his balls slapping against his skin as Robb moves.

When Robb starts hitting that spot, that one that drives him insane, he can’t control his sounds anymore. He clenches onto him, traces marks with bites, paints in black on his muscles and squirms and writhes over him, begging.

“There!”, he shouts, and then his voice turns into a sweet melted mass of indistinguishable wails and languishing whimpers.

By now, he moves haltingly over Robb. He mewls, riding slowly on his cock, jerkily, in fits and starts constantly interrupted as pleasures took over him in waves, making him bend and moan and move clumsily and desperately.

Robb could feel the urge break through him.

The look on Theon couldn't be paid for: he looked completely undone, his tongue out like a humping dog, eyes shining slutty and, god, how he fucked himself over his cock, trying to reach his prostate using him as... Robb poured some lube on his fingers and pushed them into Theon, making him jerk and shiver.

He started caressing his weak spot gently, just brushing it and Theon screamed in liberation and frustration leaving his mouth agape. As Robb's erection also hammers the point, Robb can feel him tense and squeeze, getting tight all around him. Robb bites his lips and puts the other hand around his own cock, trying to keep it from coming.

Theon was still squirming over him, almost trembling against his fingers, tasting the sensation for what felt like ages. Robb's cock and fingers were both slamming his ass so sweetly and so deeply and he could feel pleasure riding his veins from his insides to his tip. He came still arching, impaled by Robb' shaft and as he relaxed against it, Robb shot his warm cum into his sensitive flesh, making him smile in delight.

He falls on Robb and he holds him right and kisses him voraciously.

“I love you...”, he says, this time first.

The auburn man turns, “...me too.”

“It was amazing, by the way.”

“...you were amazing.”

“I usually am, thank you.”

Robb laughs and shakes his head. He looks a bit shy now, as if he just realized what went on all at once.

“Theon...”

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me what you like?”

Theon blinks and breathes out, nor relieved nor sad- just, thoughtful, burdened even.

“I'm not sure... - he admits it and his mouth turns sour – I always thought I liked some stuff and now I'm pretty much over-enjoying myself on something... pretty different, let's put it this way.”

“You can like both. - Robb coughs a bit, suddenly showing his age in his cheeks – I just want to make sure all the things you like, so... I can do them?”

“Really?”

“Of course. - he smiles and kisses Theon's ponytail – I'm the clumsy naive kiddo and you are... well, renowned, so... if I have the honour to be with you, I have a lot to learn.”

“That sounds like roleplay.”, Theon snorts.

“Well, sorry.”

Robb is at his cutest when slightly offended and still aroused, Theon decides.

“We can make a list? Both of us.”

“I guess?”

“It would be less weird than... saying it to each other’s faces.”

Robb agrees and nods. Then he passes his tongue over his lips and murmurs.

“I don't want to be something you'll regret.”

Theon frowns, “Why would you be?”

“Because I'm art and girls are archery.”

And Theon falls silent and hides into Robb's chest, because he knows he is right.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**9. A little we die, above the lesser light**

* * *

 

His lips are stained by a smirk, barely concealed by his hair that drapes over it, as the sharp corner turns up, showing his teeth biting the soft flesh of his bottom lip.

He is miles away from him and he looks like nothing will ever touch him.

A girl put a hand on his arm, showing him furtively the soft round curve of her flourishing breast caught in the fake artificial moonlight of blue neon lights dancing on her pale skin. Her sweet curls murmur of nights spent twisting next to him and her fingers know his moles and veins and the bones tracing lines on the skinny arms. She compliments his leather jacket, says it smells like him and Theon puts her hair behind her ear and whispers to her something that lights her cheeks and opens her smile.

Robb glares at him and Jon buries his face in a pint of blonde beer.

“I hate her.”

“Why don't you tell him not to flirt?”

Robb grumbles something about not having declared out loud they are dating and Theon not feeling like coming out any soon, which he understood and supported... but that...

It made his skin burn and crawl to his feet.

Theon looks at him, smiles and moves away from Ross, without a hint of doubt. He leans over the table with his arm and started sipping his Blue Moon again. The scent of gin and violet tainted his mouth and Robb imagined kissing it and stealing away a surprised look at the hint of lemon at the end of it.

But he does not move.

He does not conquer, he does not take. He stays there, next to the man who took his heart and put his hands in cuffs, who placed on his mouth kisses and then a muzzle.

There was no way he could survive not claiming him, not marking him, not showing everyone Theon was not on the market and up for one night stands.

His blood boils and turns to poison, when Kyra comes and plays with Theon's hair, murmuring soft, sweet nothings. Theon’s gaze falls between her legs; only then does Robb realize that under that tight skirt she is most likely not wearing anything.

Theon smirks and Robb's heart sinks.

Jon is about to stand up, angrily.

“Sorry, Kyra, I'm quite taken now.”

She blinks, surprised, perplexed and disgruntled but more surprised than anything else.

“ _You_?”

“Moi. - he laughs, a bit mocking, a bit annoyed at her surprise – I also fell in the end.”

“I won't believe it until my eyes see it. - she smiles, patting his back – And who is the lucky girl?”

A moment of silence drops, as Theon tries to search for an answer and Robb and Jon exchange a look.

“Oh my god. - Kyra's smirk becomes huge – It's again a married woman, isn't it? You should work on your mommy issues, MILFs don't grow on trees. - she steals some of his cocktail – But kudos to her, she must be quite something to convince you to give up your... well, natural state of being?”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“You are very much of a whore, mister Greyjoy. - her eyes fall on Robb – Maybe I should start working on that one...”

Robb stiffs up, “Ah, I...”

“He is not into girls, sorry.”, Jon stops her quickly.

Robb turns to him, frowning. Who the fuck gave him permission to...? But then Kyra seems to have a moment of epiphany seeing all the pieces come together in her mind because she rushes to Robb and hugs him tight.

“Oh, you, poor creature! - she pushes Robb's face against her boobs protectively – Theon, you keep forcing this little piece of cupcake to come to this place! Take him to a gay bar, for fucks sake! You selfish prick.”

“What?”

“This poor boy is always with you here and never hits on anyone and stays here always grumpy. Of course! This is a pussy factory! Have some respect and take him to have fun too.”

Robb would like to reply, but his face is still awkwardly stuck between her chest and he really doesn't want to open his mouth and risk touching anything in the wrong manner.

Kyra pulls away, allowing him to breathe, and looks at him, “You're beautiful, okay?”

“...o-okay?”, Robb mumbles, confused.

As she goes away, Theon blinks and turns to Jon, “Maybe you should have kept that for yourself.”

“Why? To avoid her doing the math?”

“No, because Robb was not ready.”

“The only thing that ever stopped him was you. If you found out, what would you have thought? That's what he feared. Now you know, you also know he likes you, so he is fine. - he pauses – You were the problem.”

“Excuse you? Are you implying I was keeping him caged or something?”

“Exactly.”

Robb coughs to get their attention and gives them both a very tired look.

“It's ok. Jon just wanted to save me from a terrible night of trying to refuse Kyra and she... she didn't seem to even consider you might have... had a boy, so, we are all fine.”

A sudden bitter tide takes over his tongue and he pushes it back and meets it again in the back of his mind.

Theon finishes his drink and signs to the barman to make another. Then he brings his glance on Robb and sharpens his tongue.

“You agreed on not saying it yet.”

“Agreeing means there is an option to disagree. - he replies, hurt - You... I didn't know waiting to come out meant you had to behave still the same with girls.”

“Hey, I refused her!”

“You flirted for a solid thirty minutes with Ross before, though.”

“She was there... talking to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“You flirted.”

“I didn't flirt. You know how I am when I flirt. I was... passively listening to flirting.”

“That is not even a thing.”

“You know, guys. - Jon mumbles in his beer – I think I will like... go somewhere else and have a bunch of fun in that corner...”

“No. - they both hold onto his arm – Now you are gonna tell us who is right.”

Jon prayed, prayed very hard, for the earth to swallow him and never let him emerge again.

“...you... both share...”

“No diplomacy, Jon.”, Theon cuts in.

Robb nods, “Yes, tell him I'm right.”

Jon sighs, stares at Theon “Look, you did seem available and vaguely flirty. You keep on doing it because you are afraid they'll understand. - then turns to Robb – But for his standards that was not flirting at all, like maybe he is not even sure how to have a normal conversation with a woman.”

Theon grows more and more offended but Robb gets tender and turns to him.

“I'm sorry. - he admits – I might have been a bit irrational.”

Theon stops pouting and smiles, “I get it...”

“If you're gonna make out or promise each other sex, please, let me go out of the room before. - Jon begs – I already inadvertently half-heard you many times these two months and I'm considering provoking myself deafness to avoid doing it any further.”

“You are being a bit rude.”, Robb comments.

“We are not _that_ loud.”

Jon groans, “Sorry but the time you role-played Star Wars was really really too much information and I'm still not sure how to digest it all.”

“Oh that was not even slightly the dirtiest one.”

“It was the loudest though.”, Robb admits.

Jon stares into the void, “Lightsabers. Lightsabers.”

Theon smirks in satisfaction at the idea of having slightly traumatized Jon.

“C'mon, at least when you find the unlucky girl who will marry you, you will know what to do in bed.”

“Marriage sounds like a curse word coming out of your mouth.”

“I highly doubt you'll manage to have sex before. - he chuckles – You'll probably end up with one of those nice Christian school girls, with pretty hair in a braid and a skirt that’s a bit too long.”

Jon doesn't reply that he wouldn't mind. He never actually thought about what kind of girl he would have liked, he would have liked for one to like him; he thought he would have fallen for one who could even just notice him.

Kyra caressed Theon and Robb and skipped him blindly, without a blink.

And it was never really different, not much, at least.

Theon whispers something obscene in Robb's ear and he stiffs but opens in a smile.

There is sun in their glances, there is light in them and Jon doesn't know it.

Robb's eyes shine as he catches someone he remembers quite distinctively, “Hey!”

A girl turns to him, big eyes, ungentle jaw, too many freckles to be real.

“Hey! Arcade fire boy!”, she smiles

“Guilty as charged. - he laughs – Are you here to sing again?”

“If nobody throws tomatoes at me I might. - her eyes fall on Jon's grumpy expression – I see you changed your fans tonight. No pretty little girls?”

“Ah, the fanclub were my sisters. - he admits – These are my brother Jon and... Theon.”

Her eyes glare as if she is picking up something. A thunder bolt in her cold look.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I'm not sure I get what's going on?”, Jon asks.

“I forced Robb on stage for a talent's night. - Theon grins, proudly – And he sang magnificently.”

“He was cute. - the girl agrees – I'd love to hear you again. Maybe a happy song this time?”

“Ah, I...”

“Oh, please! - Theon grabs Robb's arm and that is enough to convince him – You literally just got a request.”

“I suppose I could...?”

Jon glares at Theon as he says, “Only if you feel like it, you don't have to.”

“Well, aren't you encouraging him to exit his comfort zone I wonder.”

“This is not kindergarten psychology training, you know?”

“I know, because I have no choice of failing you.”

Robb seems exhausted and the girl turns to him, staring a bit, as if she wants to ask something but is still weighting and measuring the time and sense of that whole room of words crowding her throat.

Jon looks at her with a mix of curiosity and diffidence. She has something wild in her look, something that is ruffled and messy and yet enchanting and he is not sure how to manage that.

“I'll wait to hear ya.”, she winks, without flirting, and goes to the stage with her heavy guitar.

Theon turns to Robb, “You should try more often...”

Robb gave an uncomfortable smile, “I should, maybe, but I’m in no rush.”

“You don't have all the time in the world.”

“Singing is not like entering the academy, Theon, you don't just enter and get to the end of it and are done.”

“Well, that's not how anything works.”

Robb shields himself behind crossed arms, “I have to focus more on getting a solid degree that will help me.”

“Like daddy wants?”

“It's not about dad. It's the responsible thing to do.”

“It's the coward thing to do. - Theon half-hisses and half-chokes himself in a bitter laugh – You spend so much time telling me I should tell my father about the academy, that I should show him my stuff and he'd understand. He. Him. Understanding. And then you can't say to yours that law disgusts you?”

“You have no idea of the expectations he has. I can't let him down.”

“Guys, maybe you both should...”

“Because, guess what, nobody had expectations about me! Sorry for being a shitty piece of failed shit that doesn’t understand the shining spotless knight!”

Robb shakes his head, “That's not what I...”

“At least that guy believed in me. He saw potential!”

“...wait, which guy.”

Theon's smirk gets wicked and sharp, he doesn't know why. His heart burns sour, his eyes shine in a dark pained gleam.

“Ramsay Bolton, the guy who flirted with me at the museum. He asked for my portfolio.”

“That's your connection? - Robb's mouth is agape, his hands tremble and he seems like he’s about to gag – Wait, how did he find your contacts?”

“Maybe I'm worth a search!”

“That's not the point... - Robb shakes his head – It's creepy, it's... it's not normal.”

“Cause it's me, right? - Theon bites his lips – Who would get struck by Theon? Who would search for him?”

“I didn't say any of that.”

“You implied it.”

“No! - Robb appears to be on the verge of crying, caught back a breath and his throat cracks his voice dry – That's what you think of yourself, not me.”

“Then, let me get this straight. You keep burning your occasions, you barely sing, you never try, but I should piss over the occasion of a professor putting some nice words in for me just because you are suddenly jealous or think he is creepy? - his laughs is metallic and cold, his eyes avoid contact – Just because you are so damn trapped in the perfect little good son thing to do doesn't mean I have to fail to compliment you.”

It is clear to Robb in that instant that whatever he’d say Theon would not listening.

He is lost. He is afraid.

He wonders if Theon can even see his face or if it melted and now it's undistinguishable from that lie.

It was not the first time Theon seemed prone to crisis, it's like mental breakdowns sparked on his spine when he felt inadequate or trapped.

He has a minefield heart and Robb knows it.

But caresses are forbidden when anger breaks out of his skin and rises from his guts.

So he stays there and swallows all the tenderness and lets him be, hoping, hoping he'd calm down.

Hoping he will see.

“I am the first one to want you to try and not have regrets.”

“But you'd walk the safe road.”

“Don't you too, Theon? - Robb bursts – I may walk in the safe zone with my career choices but don't you do the same when it comes to sex?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are also not facing what you are. You are also a coward, just like me.”

Theon shakes his head in an annoyed jerk. He jolts back, his eyes fiery in rage and their cold colour burns. His Adam's apple jumps, skips a heartbeat, and then buries itself in the silence.

Theon stands up and grabs his jacket.

“...where are you going?”

“It's none of your business.”

Robb grabs his arm, pulls him closer, “Yes, it is.”

And then Theon moves his lips very slowly and marks every word in fire and carves it into Robb's heart.

“No, it isn't.”

He shrugs him away and goes out of the place, without hurry and without turning back.

Jon sips his beer, awkwardly, his eyes running on Robb's arms and his bent shoulders.

“Want to follow him?”

“Should I?”

“You shouldn't, but I asked what you want to do.”

Robb shakes his head and sips his drink, “I'll stay here. - he looks at the red shades and thinks about him – I'll sing a song. Record me, so when I'll reach him tonight, I'll show him.”

Jon shakes his head between proud and pitiful, “You'll have to be content with the mobile video quality, though.”

Robb nods. He clenches his knuckles until they get white and his lips quiver.

A happy song? That he could not sing yet.

 

*

 

Dear Theon Greyjoy,

after an accurate observation of your portfolio delivered to me via email in digital format, it is my deepest wish to confirm my academic interest in your work and allow you a privileged occasion of my positive outlook at your enrolling at the next scholastic year.

It would, though, be immensely better for me to have a physical version of your portfolio, some works, so we could discuss everything in front of the originals.

I usually receive solely third year students in my private studio, but given the circumstances I will allow an exceptional colloquium with you here in a week. I'll be there until 7 PM. All the info can be found on the Academy site.

I'll be waiting for you.

Ramsay Bolton

 

*

 

Theon enters and drops his bag on the floor. He keeps thinking that it's Wednesday and that the day after he should go to meet that guy.

And he knows he was creepy, and he knows he probably just wants some sex.

But is it so bad to think that maybe beyond that he saw some good in him?

Is it so bad to want to hope someone believes in him?

He hides himself in his loss and drinks another bottle of the first thing he finds in the fridge. He is all terrible wine, gin and sour candy after a bit.

He wonders if he is only a body, after all – he lost gods when he saw his mother forgetting her sons that died cut in half by a car crash and her husband crashed a bottle on him because “why is the runt the only one left” - and if he is only a body, after all, what's so bad in letting his body be used? If he is no more than flesh and cum and rotting needs, if he is just a runt, where is the crime in people finding a use in him?

And where was the sin in him trying to get the illusion that he could be liked?

Robb uses him too, he uses his ass and he uses his kisses. He lets him use him and he likes it, but would love or absence of it make that much of a difference? Isn't love something that comes with a soul?

Was he even able to love?

Maybe he was not.

Probably he was not.

Most definitely he was not.

He was made for sex, not love. People like Robb, all clean inside and out, all filled with light and talent, those weird angels who make sense with their existence... those can love.

He... he probably was just trying to pretend he was able to...

His smirk dies as shivers crawl through his body like bugs inside a corpse, eating up all of him. He shivers and closes his eyes.

He tries to imagine sleeping with someone who is not Robb – Kyra, Ross, Jeyne, even that Ramsay man would be okay. Anyone.

But every face morphs into Robb's.

All the hairs turn ginger, all the boobs fall flat, all the lips blossom full and fine.

All the voices become Robb's, and he can't clean his ears from that dagger he pushes through his own brain.

And yet, him and Robb, they couldn't work, wasn't it true?

He closes his eyes, he lets his chest shake and brime.

It's Wednesday.

Tomorrow, tomorrow he should bring his works. Tomorrow, tomorrow he should never go. If he goes, Robb won't forget, may forgive, may say he is fine and understand, but he'll never ever forget.

He'll remember, in fact, he'll realize – he'll realize who Theon is, who he was with.

He'll see him and go away...

Maybe Robb would have liked Maron more.

Maybe Robb would fuck better with Asha.

He crumbled into a fetal position and waited for the blue moon to drown everything, so he could think he was just going to sleep forever in the sea. A sea the same colour of Robb's eyes.

A faggot. He was just a damn faggot.

His father would have looked at him with renewed despise if he knew.

How do you even confess to someone your pathetic soulless consuming good body fell into something similar to love with Robb, Robb Stark, oh, and that now, even if you fucked all the tight cunts of London or sunk into their soft boobs and deep mouths, your body would remember and scream and beg to be used by him and only him? How do you explain you let yourself be broken and get attached and belong and now it will always always be him... There was no correction for that, no deletion and no undoing.

How do you explain to even yourself you lost yourself in someone so much better than you? And now, now you belong to Robb Stark and he does not need you... he does not need you at all.

Nobody would need you.

How do you explain that, despite knowing all of it... you made such a silly mistake?

The morning comes without letting him sleep. The sun crosses the windows and cuts through his blanket. He won't move, waiting for something to make sense, after it all.

He hears knocking at the door and stands up wondering. Asha enters without asking, looking dull, her eyes swollen and her face reddened.

She has knots in her hair and her large shirt looks ruffled, more than usual.

“Tornado?”

“...she doesn't feel well. - she lets out, voice cracking – Do you want to come with me?”

Theon lowers his eyes and looks out of window. His fingers feel cold and his bony knuckles are red and cracked.

He lets air in but he feels no relief.

“No, I'm sorry.”

He can't bear her not recognizing him again. He can't bear her eyes staring at the void behind him.

Maybe, maybe if Asha goes alone, she will ask where her babyboy is. Maybe she'll remember his ruffled tender black hair and say to kiss it for her.

Maybe she'll realize and feel stupid and guilty.

Maybe she'll come back.

Maybe she won't ever forget me again.

“I can't.”

Asha nods slowly, she glances at the side and doesn't protest. She feels weak and her legs jiggle heavily, as she leaves him with a weak faded smile which can't fit on her face and crumbles in a second.

She doesn't want to go alone.

He fingers shiver, there's pain riding her veins and bones as she clenches her hand and exits the room.

Her shoulders burden her, when she enters the car, trying to wear a proud expression as if it didn't affect her.

As if the empty seat next to her didn't scream at her.

As if it didn't bleed solitude and her mother's absence.

She takes no time to cry while still close home and leaves, hoping Theon will come with her next week, hoping she won't have to meet their mother alone and alone coming home to a house emptied of love and full only of memories begrudged and held in dusty corners of their heart, in chains, so that they couldn't nor escape nor dance.

She breathes in the memory of when her father still smiled sometimes.

The sun glisters on the glass while she drives. Birds stop singing, though, as she leaves the borders of the town – and as she focuses on the silence, her mobile starts ringing acute.

She frowns and puts the speakers on.

“Robb?”

“Yes, emh, Asha, I'm sorry, I...”

“Are you okay?”

“I was wondering where Theon was...”

“At home? - she pauses – He was there twenty minutes ago, at least.”

“I... I'm here but he doesn't reply nor... - a weak thin laugh – Maybe he went out. It's okay, I was just worried he didn't return safely yesterday night.”

She chuckles, “Well, aren't you the prince type? Next time you should drive him home.”

“We had a spat... actually...”

“What did he do?”, Asha asks, simply.

Robb seems slightly offended at her question, “It was sort of my fault... look, I... I just wanted to know he is safe, hm, if I leave here something may you give it to him when you return?”

“Did you bring him flowers?”, she snorts.

“Not really... I would have liked, but I'm not sure he would have appreciated.”

“He made me flower crowns as a child, so maybe...”

“Okay, that's adorable and I'm totally gonna blackmail him with this info. - he laughs, trying to seem natural but betrayed fear comes back in waves – I... I'll just leave it here, okay? Next to the window.”

“Don't worry about it. Maybe he went out for a walk, he didn't seem to have slept much.”

“Should I... text him or...?”

“Are you asking me for dating advice? - now she laughs loudly – He likes the attention, but don't spoil him.”

“Thank you... if... in case...”

“When I'll be home, I'll kick his ass and tell him to reply, don't worry.”

“Thank you, Asha. - he stops and she can hear him finally breathing in relief – And in case put in a good word for me, okay?”

“Don't you worry, child, probably he is just nervous about the academy. Telling dad won't be a birthday party.”

“I know... I mean, he wouldn't accept it easily.”

“Yeah, but what can you do, kiddo? Living your whole life depending on other people’s expectations? That sounds deadly boring.”

Robb stays silent for a bit, then smiles at the phone, “Guess you're right.”

 

*

 

As Robb leaves his front door, Theon sighs. He slowly lays on the wall and lets himself drop on the ground.

He sinks his face between his elbows and tries not to cry.

God, he misses him. And he wants to make peace, he wants to run to him and make love and make the fight disappear.

But all the words come back. And he has to meet the curator guy and if he says it to Robb, Robb would forbid him and then they'd fight again.

And he can't drop that contact just because he loves Robb... which he would, because he loves Robb that much, but he hates it. It's a weakness, a damn weakness.

And he needs to prove to himself he is not like that.

 

Robb:

Hey umh

Robb:

Yesterday I was an asshole. And I get if you need some time to be alone and not see my face. I just wanted to say sorry and leave you something.

Robb:

I love you

Robb:

… when you feel like speaking, tell me, ok? I'll be waiting

Robb:

well that sounded desperate and clingy didnt it

Robb:

OOOOKAY stopping with this text. Just, I miss you? Fricking lot. Love you. Sorry.

 

God, why was he so cute?

Hateful...

He starts writing a text many times, but then he stops. The dots pulsing make him nervous, as if he was on stage and everyone was listening to him.

His dad.

He hides his face, moves his hair back and groans.

He tries again and fails.

He hits the mobile with his head and lets out an annoyed sigh, before pressing on the recording button next to the text space and mumbling in a low voice, trying to keep his tenderness a bit shielded.

“Me too... me too...”

He lets it sent without thinking and as Robb replies, he feels he really is weak. And trapped.

He doesn't like that.

He doesn't like needing someone, depending on them. Because he was never necessary to them.

 

Robb:

!!!! OMG Thank you for writing me I was so afraid I overdid and you decided not to speak to me anymore, geez. Guess I was being paranoid... So umh do you mind if I come to you and we get maybe a snack or watch a movie?

 

Theon:

sorry I'm a bit busy today

Theon:

maybe tomorrow

 

Robb:

Oh ok <3 but promise it's all alright?

 

Theon:

I still like you if this is the doubt :P what a lady you are

 

Robb:

ok ok I'm gonna wait for tomorrow <3

 

Theon smiles, caresses the screen. Tomorrow, tomorrow sounds like a sad promise and a sweet curse.

“Tomorrow.”, he repeats to himself, collecting the pieces to bring to Ramsay Bolton.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I feel like it's important to warn you in this chapter there is a Thramsay scene going on. Although it's nothing too explicit, I am aware I should "tag" it and warn you before the reading. There is sex implied, rough one, and a case of dubious consent. I prefer to put this out and clear so you can chose what to read and if skipping some parts. I decided to write the effective explicit part as a separate spin-off because it is to me narratively important (as a comparison ThrobbvsThramsay) but I don't want to give my readers a too explicit description of a ship that is not the endgame one they entered this story for.

**10\. And just like you there was no one I could belong to**

* * *

 

 

When he rings the bell, he feels like he’s about to puke.

He can feel Robb's eyes digging holes in his back.

He can imagine the pain and the loss and the air is too thin to stay between his fingers.

He rings the bell a second time, nervous, and squishes his fingers, while his breath accelerates. He hesitates a second longer and turns – maybe Robb won't discover it, maybe if he goes now he'll forgive him, maybe – but as his back faces the door, the latter opens with a long squeaky whine.

The first thing he can see through the dark is his smile: tilted, screwed on his face, with white fakely shiny teeth. His lips are fat, not full, rather swollen; they look inflated and full of cuts. He can't stop thinking how different they are from Robb's soft lips.

He fakes a smile, “Good afternoon, I...”

His smirk gets sharper, “Glad to see you. - he doesn't bother to look at his boxes with art pieces– Come in.”

Theon is about to say no, to reply, to go back. Something tells him his idea is terrible, in the back of his head, but... can he still go back? Would he trip over his own decisions? Maybe he should go further, try. Maybe he can fix it if it goes beyond. Maybe he can do it and not say anything to Robb. Maybe Robb won't discover it ever and he'll get in the academy and they'll make peace and be happy forever.

Maybe he can manage that.

He swallows, “Thank you”, and enters quickly in the apartment. He can feel the man staring at his back.

He feels the borders of that smile, he could almost draw it. It sinks in his skin.

When they are inside, in the dimly lit apartment, he notices Ramsay Bolton is poorly dressed. The clothes are expensive but he can't match them properly. There are different shades of pink on him and a black and red tie.

All in all, Theon wonders if he is slightly color-blind, but he doesn't dare to ask.

His hair falls over his shoulders, long, and Theon thinks he usually likes long-haired people; they look like silk and waves of sea falling on their shoulders. But his hair is oily, they look like dense paint coagulated over his head.

He tries to find something he likes, he tries to focus on the icy eyes, but such a cold, washed away blue just reminds him of the saturated tender blue of Robb's eyes.

His heart aches for some reason.

And all of a sudden, he hopes he understood it all wrong, for a second he hopes the guy is just a teacher with terrible timing and comes off as creepy without knowing. Maybe he is not even gay, he prays.

He pulls apart at the seams of his heart. He begs for that cramp to let his chest go.

He drops the boxes and sits on the sofa, needing to rest his legs. The man smiles.

As Theon nervously runs away, glancing at the floor or the furniture, a vertigo grasps his neck; there are Chinese vases of doubtful taste piling up all around and a bear carpet with it’s head open in a final scream.

Ramsay Bolton seems to notice because he quickly comments, “Like the carpet?”

“It's... quite impressive.”

“It's a bit brutal, but my father taught me the necessity of memento mori. And the incomparable beauty of real leather and fur.”

Theon tries to avoid remembering his dad's useless tries to make him enjoy hunting as a child. Only his brothers loved it, he kept crying.

As they died, he went only with Asha.

He never asked him to join again.

His hands strangle each other, making the knuckles white; Ramsay notices.

“You find it dreadful?”

Theon seems to wake up just then and he winces, startled, “No. - he says, barely, faltering a laugh – It's just an animal.”

“A bear. - he precises – Nobody puts a rabbit in the hallway.”

“It’s also too small for a carpet.”

Ramsay narrows his eyes, as if he is trying to get if Theon is making fun of him or just being ridiculously nervous.

And then he sees it: Theon straightens his back and moves his jaw slightly, trying to clench it and pull himself together. He stops holding his hands poorly and his eyes turn self-assured; he tries so hard to regain control of himself...

The cockiness is a mask, as he imagined after that first day they met at the exhibit.

He didn't come there out of confidence, rather, he is there because he is desperate. He had already started to crumble. And he can feed on that fear.

That boy looks like waves of scared shivery waters trapped under a thin quivery skin. There is something vulnerable about him that tempts Ramsay, like a cup filled with sweet summer wine calling for him to drink it all and leave it drained and empty.

To him, it was funny, like a little game.

Cocky little things, thinking themselves big and pretty – they would have snobbed him, ignored him, some would have slept with him for a nice opportunity and then think to go away easily – instead behind all of that, there, they were rumbles kept together by spit and facades. He would have tore down the stucco, he would have found the cracks and press them.

And drink the soft juice of the crushed apple.

He decides to let Theon gain a bit of confidence again, before putting him in his place.

“I noticed with a certain surprise your research doesn't focus too much on the research itself. - he mumbles – Fresh air.”

Theon's smirk widens.

“Self-reference in media is so obvious right now. - he chuckles – It makes war seem like a provocative topic.”

Ramsay fakes a convinced laugh.

“Oh, dear! - he leans his mouth against his hand, hiding a grin – You have no idea.”

“I mean, - Theon continues, getting more charming, ready to sell himself as the best thing in the room – It's something we have been doing since the 70s, it's not that now since we add a couple of deformed social network scans it becomes suddenly different.”

“Absolutely.”

Theon smiles, “To me it's more interesting speaking about something less conceptual, because we're more afraid of that. - he avoids Ramsay's look, as if he is thinking about something or someone somewhere else, Ramsay notices annoyed – Because something we can conceptualize or think, that we can control. But matters of our flesh we can't escape nor explain and they decide for us.”

A bit more of confidence, then he will be able to strike right in the pulp and take away the floor from under his feet.

“So you'd like to focus on that as research for your first year, I suppose? Something about all of our uncontrollable not understandable parts?”

Theon's eyes wander again.

Uncontrollable strings of the heart and mind throwing himself towards Robb and then pushing him as far as he can go. As if he was made of nothing but incompatible thoughts and mismatched pieces.

He doesn't reply.

“Smoke?”, he asks, sitting next to him instead of in front.

Theon swallows, “Ah, sure, thanks.”

“It's a bad habit. - he cuts him off, quickly – You should drop it.”

Theon begs himself to contain the annoyance of one of his biggest pet-peeves being thrown in his face.

“I know, I just lack the willpower to give up any bad habit.”

“They are dear to you?”

“Sort of. - he laughs nervously – Once, someone told me your personality is more in your bad habits than in the good ones.”

His eyes have a wicked thin gleam.

“You have no self-control, I see. - he sips from a glass of wine, without pouring it to Theon – Not that I couldn't deduce this much from the portfolio. You are all over the place.”

Theon shivers.

“What do you mean...?”

“There is no control in your works. Emotions spill out, the technique is often sacrificed and it's so ungraceful, pass me the term. It's done in a frenzy, feverish. - he shakes his head and wrinkles his nose – Adolescent at its best.”

Theon dies a little inside, just an inch or two of his heart slipping out and drying on the ground of his stomach.

He takes out a smile.

“I learn quickly, though.”

“Do you? - the man raises an eyebrow, mocking – You don't look like that, at all.”

Theon can feel his veins tensing and his bones hurt.

“I'm good. - he promises, without knowing why – I can be good.”

 

*

 

He was coughing his heart out, shaking under the blanket. Outside, snow fell heavy and mute.

He could distinguish his brothers playing, complaining as Asha won.

Maron cursed, with a word Theon didn't know yet.

His eyesight was blurred but he could feel her cold hand caressing his forehead.

“My little baby... - her voice was molten sugar and breeze – You caught a really bad one this time.”

“As usual. - his father sneered from the door – He has your family's immunity system. He's all pale and lanky and weak.”

His mother turned and stared at him, indignant, “Excuse me?”

Balon coughed, “Well... in correspondence to Rod and Maron, he is a bit spineless. Asha would sneeze this fever away in a day.”

“This child is also the only one who seems to be able to keep his room clean. He gets straight As, he spells perfectly, he can fold laundry and he is the only one in this house, except me, who knows how not to burn the whole kitchen down to make eggs. - she spoke quietly, but her words thundered like a quiet roar – You can love one child without belittling the other, Balon, and one would hope someone with siblings would understand that much.”

He hesitated then bit his lips, “Well, I guess he'll be a great housewife then, to some fucking faggot.”

“Are you implying straight men lack the part of brain that allows them to be cleaner than bears?”

“No, I'm...”

“I guessed so. - she cut him short – I forbid you from speaking about Theon like this again. He has been nothing but a relief of a kid after those three tornados. And if to you him being a bit shy makes him a disappointment but the fact that Rod drinks beer at his age and Maron failed third grade two times, two times, is just an accident, god help me, Balon, because then your scale of value is as screwed as a whore on the waterfront.”

Theon could barely see through his blurred eyes, but he would never forget the sight of his dad, jaw almost on the ground, mouth agape, speechless and cornered like a disobedient puppy, while his mother stared at him with fire in her eyes.

She then turned to Theon again and kissed his forehead, “Hey, baby, do you want some more porridge, hm? I put some cinnamon and honey in it.”

“I was waiting for dinner too.”

“You and the kids can wait half an hour, you're not gonna die. - she commented, dry – And, to be quite honest, I'm pretty confident Asha and Maron assaulted the cookie jar not any more than an hour ago, so you're probably the only hungry one.”

Balon stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

Theon reached out for him, but slowly or weakly, he never knew, and his dad didn't accept his hand. So he let it down and sighed.

“Why is dad angry at me?”

“Because he is as sour as a lemon, let him be.”

“...he is not like this with the others. - even he could notice that much, after all – Even with Asha, he is all cute and she's a girl.”

His mother sucked her lips and caressed his soft dark hair.

“Your father... he is not really a sugar cube, but he loves you, I promise. He is just not sure how to, because he knows only the easy way to.”

“...am I hard to love?”

“No, no, I... mom didn't mean that. Look, I love you, you know this, right?”

Theon nodded, strongly, suffocating down a cough fit to seem more convincing.

She smiled and kissed his forehead, “Then, let's do this. It's like when you do Asha's homework and not tell anyone, hm?”

“You knew?”

“Did you think you could hide it from me? Mommy can decode calligraphy.”

“How?!”

“Magic. - she whispered softly – Now, listen well, I will do your father's homework as a dad. What he can't show, I will, and I'll love you strong strong for both of us.” 

“And you won't stop?”

“How could I? - she shook her head smiling and kissing him on the nose – Theon, my little pumpkin prince, nobody could ever ever forget you or stop loving you.”

“Really?”

“And one day, one day you'll find a nice princess and you'll have children too, and you have to promise me this, okay? Crossing pinkies and all. You have to promise to love them all the same and if you ever love one more to not let it show.”

“Unlike dad.”

“Or unlike mommy. - she winked – I can't go to Asha and tell her you are my favourite!”

“I am your favourite?”

She put a finger in front of her mouth and made a low whispered sound to invoke silence and secrecy. Theon gave a big smile.

For a moment, his mother seemed relieved but as his smile grew sad and bitter, she turned to him again, wondering, “Any doubts?”

“But dad will like me too right?”

She would rather he stopped caring, but she couldn't ask that much of such a young child, “Be a good boy and he will notice. He's stubborn but not blind.”

It seemed like the right thing to say.

It was not.

 

*

 

Ramsay Snow smiles mean and sharp.

Theon can feel a sickly tide ride his tongue.

“Would you be willing to participate in some extracurricular seminars and...Laboratories?”

“Of course!”, Theon replies without thinking, as usual.

“You see, usually I allow some selected students to help me with my own art projects, so they can see the proper work technique and the most professional approach. You are quite... coarse, frankly speaking, I can be frank right? You are not one of those that take everything so personally, hm? You are... quite crude, rough. Some people find it an indicator of being special or unique, but isn't that quite the shallow approach? - he chuckles – But maybe under my wing we could go somewhere, hm?”

On his skin blue vibrates coldly, the weak light of the room vanishes and Theon is left half in darkness.

He bends his lips but the smile is crooked and vanishes early.

“I'll do any extra work you'll consider necessary.”

“There is also another thing.”

He swallows, “Yes?”

“You see, I kind of need to see a … spark in people, you know what I mean, don't you? - his lips are swollen and pulled together and Theon keeps thinking about Robb's light smile on the beach – I need to see there is something interesting. I- I can't bear common, the world is so full of common, banal, people, Theon, they go around living their little lives and... it's just so... - he sighs – So honestly bothering to me, such a burden. I feel like I'm... condemned to share this slice of world with such inadequate people, you follow me?”

Theon tries really hard not to advice this man a therapy session.

“Some... people feel often alone when they are very... intellectually advanced.”, he concludes, diplomatically.

The man smiles and his eyes seem lightless like the buttons on dolls or the dark holes of a shark emerging from water.

“Exactly. I'm far too patient with most of my students, you see, they are so... unable to see. But you seem like a smart boy.”

His fingers move to search for the border of the sofa, the limit of the room, the borders of the house. He needs to move. He sweats ice.

“I pride myself to be so.”

“Then. - he smiles – Then we are going to get along really well, I'm sure.”

His fat hand touches Theon's thigh and he feels suddenly small and thin. He feels his bones turning to paper and sand, like when his father smashed his belt over his ass.

Mommy didn't know.

Mommy couldn't know.

_She wouldn't like you if she knew what you did._ , he snickered, _So it's better you sow that fucking mouth and shut up, will ya?_

Will you, Theon? Will you be a good boy and shut up?

Or will you tell mommy and let her hate you?

Will you bear her eyes staring at you in disgust?

Blue. Auburn. Pale tender traits.

Will you let him know? Will you let Robb know how you are?

He swallows. He feels like laughing, a robotic weird laugh. He gives just a hint of it, but as the man looks at him and scorches him with that glare he stops.

He feels like a cow being branded.

“I'm sure too.”

The hand moves to his face in a cold caress, “And what about your friend?”

That word comes out of his mouth with despise, mocking and hate mixed together and turned sour.

He tastes a bit like the burning of salt over the bleeding flesh of a bitten tongue.

He tastes like the emptiness in his ribcage.

“Which friend?”

Raising an eyebrow, incredulous, Ramsay Bolton chuckles. He wrinkles a bit the nose. He is irritated by having to repeat himself, Theon deduces.

“The friend. - he carves that word in the air – Who was with you at the exhibition.”

His fingers become like claws on Theon's thigh.

He swallows, “Robb?”.

His lips quiver nervously.

“What does he think of your visit here?”

Theon's eyes linger on Ramsay, magnetic; he tries to appear as sensual and self-confident as he usually is, he puts on his best charming smile, and while the mask seems ready to crumble, he nervously keeps it up by the strings under his lips.

“It's none of his business.”

“Are you lying?”

“I'm not.”

For some reason, he expects a slap, but it doesn't come. He can see the veins pulping big and swollen on Ramsay's hand as his grip gets sharp.

He hesitates, crumbles. Why can't he manage that look?

Why are those two eyes of cold dirt so heavy on his chest?

“It's not of his business. - he repeats, trying to sound firmer – I do what I please with whom I please.”

And then Ramsay seems satisfied.

He smirks, large and for some reason Theon thinks about those dogs with big pointy mouths that look like they are smiling but are just opening their mouth to bark or eat.

“You're not... exclusive, I deduce?”

“I'm not exclusive to anyone.”

Theon can't say if he is pleased or annoyed, if it's anger the one pulling his eyebrows or if it's greed and a free pass elation.

“You're quite the Carmen, aren't you?”

“ _L'amour est un oiseau rebelle, Il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi..._ ”

“You mixed the first and second verse.”

“How fastidious.”

Ramsay's hand moves and reaches Theon's groin, he moves more towards Theon almost curving over him like some Gargoyle pending from a cathedral about to drop on the city and fall on prey.

“I expected you to be a bit like that, after all.”

“Lewd?”, Theon chuckles under his breath.

“Cheap.”

It's not what he says, because he is used to it.

It's how.

There is no moral highness but no wicked arousal, there’s no judgment and no dirty talking; Ramsay is simply stating something that to him is clear and evident, like if he said the sky is blue.

It was an easy truth, it was something that deserves no thought and no attention.

Cheap.

Theon swallows, “Does it compromise our deal...?”

Ramsay seems slightly amused, “Well, you know, objects of no value are not exactly art material. Marble doesn't melt under the hands of just anybody and lapis lazuli doesn't grow on trees.”

Theon tries to stand up but Ramsay is slightly bent over him and he can't escape nor go away offended and he can't nor storm out nor refuse. His lips are so close and he smells like nauseating pine tree perfume, like car freshener, and he thinks about Robb's sweat and he tries to move away with his head and then the daggers dig deeper into him.

Cheap.

Cheap.

How deep inside his lungs did the bullet open and where is it to rest?

Ramsay Bolton's wicked, thin smile seems to find his distress like fuel to sip on.

“So will you offer to me something special, Theon?”

“Like?”

His hand goes on Theon's crotch and presses. Presses hard. Theon's mouth jolts open, but he doesn't shout.

“Be mine. - Ramsay says, softening the grip and now caressing him through the jeans, rather pleasantly – If you can of course... for someone so used to go around, fucking, like a damn bitch in heat, must be pretty much impossible... - his pressure keeps changing, going from sweet and arousing to painful and harsh; but his eyes of ice froze every word Theon could have – Aren't you like that, hm?”

“I-”

“Aren't you?”, he roars.

“I am.”

He smiles and puts the glasses down.

“Come upstairs with me. - Theon is not sure if Ramsay is ordering it or asking him, but none of it matters now – You'll take a shower.”

He can remember showers taken eagerly to freeze boiling thoughts, ardent wishes. When he started wanting Robb too much and he'd get hard at the thought of them touching.

He can remember showers taken voraciously to let the steam fire up their bloods, as him and Robb entered together and fucked against the glass walls, fingerprints against steamed fog.

The showers taken before, to wash away some milf's old perfume or some girl's fragrant cum, chuckling, delighted and proud, with emptiness echoing in the back of his lungs- those showers he had almost forgotten.

And now, somehow, instead of a proud hunter he felt like a dirty quarry.

He never felt bad for having sex, after all, it was great, it felt good, it was what a man is supposed to do, no? To have, to collect, to prove.

Maron and Rodrik always had some girl. He had more than them combined, and prettier too.

His father must have noticed.

Robb must have.

He should know, he should know that just because with him he bottomed, doesn't mean that he...

His breath gets irregular, but he takes those steps anyway and enters the shower without taking even a towel. Ramsay doesn't give him one.

He felt as naked, exposed, spineless and vulnerable as a worm.

Worms don't get clothes, worms don't get shields and deserve no care.

He showers quickly, almost scraping himself, his nails sinking with the sponge and he scratches so deep parts of him burn under the hot squirt.

He wants to run away.

But his throat is heaved by the sensation of dirt rising from under his skin, emerging and covering him.

All the perfume, all the cum, the one of the girls up his hands, on his lips, down on his cock, and then Robb's, shot so deep in his ass he could barely delete the sensation of having been a used pussy.

He swallows back the puke his stomach punches in his mouth.

 

*

 

As the phone buzzes, like a desperate bee stuck at the end of a jar of honey, Ramsay stares at it with a mix of disgust and annoyance. He picks it up, raising an eyebrow.

He doesn't like distractions.

The phone keeps buzzing, a couple of messages arrive and his nerves spark.

He clicks the sidebutton and the mobile asks him for the password, typical.

He stalked a bit that boy, enough to discover some stuff about his dad and that sister of his – the only person who realized she had been followed, what a family of lobotomized failures – and that redheaded boy... gosh, that one; he did a bit of digging in his schools files, but between that and guessing a password there was a bit of a difference.

As it buzzes again, he decides to try, at least to not smash the phone on the ground.

That he would wait a bit for, maybe a couple of weeks?

His own name? Too narcissistic also for him. Maybe an artist he loved? Mweh, not something he would bet on. His sister? Nah.

Oh.

As he tries his worst suspicion, the phone unlocks.

Bile rises in him and he holds the phone with enough force to risk to crack it.

Not exclusive, hm? That little slut told him some very bad lie.

He thought they were simply two teenagers fucking around, liking each other and not confessing, but Theon lied to him to his face. To his damn face.

Mendacious worm.

 

Robb:

hey baby I'm a bit worried, I hope you are doing fine, I miss you a bunch

Robb:

today me and sansa went out cus she had to buy a dress for prom :) she was very excited about it all and kept speaking about romantic nights and so and idk i kept thinking about us you know?

Robb:

I overdid last night but I can't wait for us to see each other again and kiss and get over it all and I kinda have a plan in mind for it?? eheheh you'll see!

Robb:

anywaaaay yes I wanted to say just this basically!! I love you with all of me

 

He bites his inner cheek, thinking that he thought the boy would have been much of an easier bitch to fuck, but now something in his pride was stained and strained. He could feel anger pouring fire in him.

Humiliating that little arrogant boy would have given him so much more pleasure than he thought before.

A cat doesn't stop playing with the mouse until it is fully satisfied.

 

*

 

He walks into the room dripping wet and naked. His hair falls gracefully on his shoulders, thick and soft, but his eyes are reddened and swollen by fearsome thoughts.

His collarbones seem more evident, his neck looks pale and tense like one of a scared deer.

He touches his arm nervously, embarrassed.

Ramsay Bolton is fully dressed, up to his ugly tie, laying on his bed – are those satin red sheets? Theon tries not to comment on the choice.

He receives a smirk that sends sparks of ice to his spine.

A terrifying, annihilating glare accompanied the coldest smile.

That's not the greed he knows with Robb, made of animalistic rush and love, of pulse and impulse.

No, that's a sticky, slimy greed. A childish, scary, vain need to destroy. That's fury.

It shines all over and inside Ramsay's eyes and makes Theon take some steps back.

“Is... everything okay?”, he asks, stupidly.

No, nothing is okay.

Nothing is. He is not, that man is not. He wants a door, he wants his car, he wants Robb – Robb, damn, Robb and his stupid voice ringing in his head and him being too good while he is a mass of putrid, mellow, sexual filth.

His heart was gunky and needy.

Ramsay bends his head to the side, “Shouldn't it?”

He moves his hand inviting him to come to the bed and Theon obeys, unsure why. His legs are weak and quiver, his bones jellified.

“Here.”

Theon stops and stares. Ramsay doesn't stop looking at him with such anger and despise, he is unsure how to reply to that.

He is so explicit in his contempt towards him that it's... almost... comforting?

“Come here.”; he orders again, louder.

And Theon obeys.

He comes on the bed and sit on it.

Ramsay touches his neck, bites it, sinking a bit too deep, then licks off the water. His tongue is sticky and warm.

“On all fours now. - he growls, forcing his hands on Theon's thighs – Being such a whory bitch you should know how to put yourself doggy, don't you?”

Theon freezes for a moment again. Sure, he didn't expect the guy to be as sweet as Robb, as tender, but- he also never really minded some roughness, “But...”

“Don't you?”

He growls and pushes Theon's face against the sheets with such force Theon can barely breathe. It's not mere strength, he has no restrain, no qualms that stop him from throwing it all.

Theon moves his legs erratically like a fish slaps himself in the air when suffocating.

Ramsay slaps them and then places them open while saying “Like this, like this. Now put your useless used ass up like this.”, he explains forcing that up.

He lets Theon's throat free and he starts to pant and gasp, can't close his mouth and his eyes tear up.

He turns towards Ramsay ready to tell him he doesn't care and he is leaving, but he finds that smile, the one he could feel in the dim lights before.

“On all fours, slutty mutt.”

Theon can't explain why his elbows feel burning weak.

He can't explain why he doesn't resist any longer.

He can't explain himself, he just obeys.

There is something in that vulgar cruel way that feels familiar.. is he supposed to be treated in any other way, after all?

Ramsay slaps his butt cheeks and chuckles a sharp guttural laugh.

Theon feels his slithery lips on his back and tries to bite his own lips as to bite those kisses off from his skin.

He can feel right after Ramsay's hand on his neck, pressing on it. He panics, but holds the blankets, sinks his nails into them.

He tries to scream but nothing comes out of his squished throat.

That's not how one would make breath play safe and he knows and from the pressure Ramsay is putting and where he can tell he knows too. And he does not care.

He presses further, Theon can feel his neck getting swollen, his brain calls for air.

It's purple and heavy in his lungs. His fingers try to dig into the sheets and he gains another dog nickname. He would like to cry, but every whine dies in the scabbard of his throat.

He wants to rebel, to push him off. But he can't.

As he realizes he went there, he sat there, he accepted all of that, as he feels that burden, he wonders if his heart is too black and murky. He did that to himself, he did that to Robb.

Does he even deserve to run away?

“You don't need preparations, do you?”

 

*

 

“Theon... - his mother looks at him with sad eyes, not disappointed but confused – Why are you so afraid of uncle Euron, hm? He brought you some presents...”

Theon hides deeper under the blanket, holding his plush horse.

Alannys sighs and shakes her head, “You really don't feel like it? But then you won't have the cake...”

“It's okay, give it to Asha.”

“It's the one with maroon glacees though.”

His voice gets a bit sadder, “...keep a piece for me in the fridge?”

“Theon, I won't force you if you tell me why.”

“He doesn't know why. - Asha says, coming from behind – He is just a sissy!”

“I'm not sissy!”, he shouts, coming out of the blankets, outraged, red in the face.

She laughs, “He has nightmares about his eye, the one the accident reduced to mush!”

“...do you?”

“He says that he can turn him to stone or some bullshit.”

“Asha! - he half-cries – It was a secret, you promised!”

“Hitler promised not to invade Poland, Theon, grow up. - she sticks her tongue out and then turns to their mother – He is also scared of dad.”

Alannys blinked and then frowned, confused, “Why would he be?”

Theon looks stubbornly on the other side, while sucking his lips not to exit a newly found muteness.

His mother raises an eyebrow, inviting him to speak, but it's no use, so she turns to Asha, who is eager to give exactly the right solution.

“Because he wouldn't save him.”, Asha says, plainly.

Theon scratches his own arms.

She didn't even try to deny it or put a “he thinks that...” in front of it, because they all know it's, after all, to the core, the truth. Balon wouldn't help Theon, he never did, after all.

“He thinks if uncle Euron hurt him, daddy would probably agree with him it was okay.”

Alannys trembles in anger, clenching her fingers.

Her blue eyes dagger in the wrath only love can feed. She shields Theon in a hug.

“If it happened, if anyone dared to hurt you, I'd find them, Theon, and I'd make them regret every instant they made you cry. - she promises, kissing his hair, softly – I love you, my baby, with all of me.”

Theon cries and hides in those arms.

But he wonders if his dad would count too in that promise.

If when he smacked him with the belt, if it did count...

 


	11. Chapter 11

I wanted to quickly thank you all for the support and announce the fic will finish at chapter 14, 15 in case I need a bit more space to answer every question.

* * *

 

 

**11\. Denial won't get you very far, kiddo**

* * *

 

_8 months after_

* * *

 

He sips tea slowly, staring out the window without really looking.

Kids ride their bikes, trees shed their yellow scales, slowly the wind brings to the sky plastic bags and leaves them to fall a bit further away.

He can't feel the bitter citrus aftertaste, he doesn't add the sugar he actually may want. 

Sips, automatically.

Sips, blindly.

Jon and Arya are laughing at some inner joke, Bran was finishing his math homework, which he neglected the night before in order to finish his book – he just discovered Stephen King and he is devouring everything he can put his little hands on without Cat noticing – while Rickon tries to put in his mouth a huge five layers toast with marmalade. His mother went out to help with the funeral, while his father, refusing firmly to get involved in it, is staying home with them to bring them to school.

Sansa is the only one who looks at him, the only one who reads him easily.

It was always so.

She seems to want to say something but she doesn't, sipping her milk tea slowly.

“Why is mommy out since before breakfast? Is it cause Arya eats bad-mannered?”

Ned frowns, trying not to smile, “No, Ricky, mommy is helping the neighbourhood.”

“She is not our neighbour.”, Arya precises, annoyed.

“She is someone we know going through a hard time.”

Sansa seems weirdly aggravated, she collects her voice and asks, “Then why don't you go to help her too?”

“He always refused my help. He was a stubborn man. - Ned comments, seeming sad – I'm sure he wouldn't want me to help his daughter.”

“It's a funeral, he can't see you anyway. - she almost shouts, then shakes her head and calms – She is all alone, working on the funeral, with harpies already trying to get what little that man held in the bank.”

And then Robb speaks and his voice sounds thin, dry, stale, as if he didn't take it out in centuries and it attached a bit to his throat.

“If Theon doesn't put himself out coming back for his sister, I don't see why dad should help.”

And it was silence.

Jon looks at him for a second, then pushes Arya's head back on the newspaper they were chuckling at, Rickon seems close to crying, his father's lips quiver in a stuttered muteness that never brings out any words – he has much to say to his son, he would love to, but somehow nothing fits and he, unsure, remains silent.

Bran frowns and Sansa looks at him with a genuinely scandalized expression.

“Excuse you? - Sansa places her hands on her hips and suddenly looks a lot like their mother when she was very young – Who are you to judge what Theon does or doesn't do?”

“Do you still have a crush on him? - Robb comments, mockingly, suddenly hurtful – Beware, he might break up with you via text and disappear for months without notice.”

“His father died! If he is not at the funeral it’s because something awful happened and he can't. - she states, ignoring her brother's little tantrum – And maybe he will come the day itself cause he had stuff to do for school. You didn't even reply to that text, Robb.”

“There was nothing to reply to.”

Bran looks at all his siblings, checking if anybody feels his same need to intervene and punctuate that fight. As he sees everyone trying to avoid looking, including his father, he guesses this fight has very little to do with what's true and right, and very much to do with something else, left unsaid between the lines.

“He won't come. - Robb stands up – He doesn't care about anything else than himself.”

“Even if he won't, - Sansa stands next to him, a full jar shorter, but with her usual soft blue eyes now lighting – Would you leave his sister alone? Is this like you, Robb? Leaving a heartbroken person alone in order to preserve some pride?”

Robb swallows a bitter urge and mumbles, low, “I have to go, Jeyne is waiting for me.”

“Say hi for me. - she smiles – And tell her how you are ignoring the grieving of the sister of someone who has been your bestfriend for ten years because as lovers you didn't work out. If she knows about that part, even.”

Robb rolls his eyes, “Being in that laboratory of critical historical thinking is not doing you any good. You're just getting blunt.”

“I prefer her this way.”, Arya peeps.

Sansa smiles, “Professor Tyrion says if you can't bear the truth said out loud, you need denial to keeps you up like crutches. I see it's very much true.”

“Is there anyone in this house who doesn't feel like being a Greyjoy's family advocate? Like should I bring him flowers and give my condolences to him in person, in front of the three women he probably fucked?”

“Bad word....”, Rickon mumbles to his father.

“Me and little Rickon will go to play with Legos until all of you decide to regain some decor. - Ned states, icy, taking the small puff in his big arms – And mind your language.”

When they are gone, Bran decides to speak, “If you need to see him to get some closure, you could. But then why didn't you do it before? - he lowers his eyes, as Robb glares at him, hurt – Maybe you're afraid you'll see him and you'll love him all over again. Maybe you're afraid of him looking happier without you. Maybe you're afraid he'll give you the real reason... the text made you angry, but you never replied asking why, Robb.”

Robb sniffles, trying to catch his sadness and strangle it, fighting back tears.

“You're all experts here, I see. You all know him so much better than me. - he tries to roar the latter, but his eyes are watery and he turns to hide it – Isn't it easier to be a judge when it’s about someone else?”

He slams the door behind himself.

Sansa feels her shoulders weak.

She has to do something, she can't bear seeing her brother so blue any longer.

 

*

 

Jeyne waits for him at the door of her white pretty house with a pretty white summer dress, she smiles a candied gentle smile and hugs him tight. Her hair shines under the light and her eyes look like small stars.

She has little wrists and a little waist, she is not skinny rather on the soft side, but she is all small, quite short and tender like a cloud. Her long hair is wavy but she waves it into little braids because her mother tried to make her as precise and neat as a child can be.

She always asks with a please and says thank you, she never makes sexual jokes, Jeyne tender Jeyne, sharing the name with his sister's friend – that just makes it harder for him to pretend to look at her with arousal.

Jeyne sweet Jeyne with the pretty white dress and her pretty white soul with no stains over nor inside.

Jeyne sweet Jeyne who was nothing like Theon.

“You're late.”, she smiles and kisses him shyly.

Robb kisses her, a quick peck of a kiss, as if her lips burnt him, and then smiles fakely, “Sorry, sibling stuff.”

She frowns, “Did you cry?”

She caresses his cheek and Robb stares at her with weak eyes, emptied of any energy.

He looks like he’s about to break over her hand, shed pieces of his armour and turn to sand falling asleep against her.

He swallows, “Kids can be exhausting.”

Jeyne kisses his forehead and passes a hand through his auburn curls.

“Do you want to go to Balon Greyjoy's funeral? - she asks, kindly – You used to be friends with the son, didn't you? Theo? Mattheus?”

“Theon.”, he says, that name burdening his tongue like iron and concrete.

“Like the lunar craters?”

Robb laughs, “No, no like... Theon of Samos, the painter. Well, that's what he thought his parents thought about, at least. But knowing Balon it's hard to imagine this was the name-sake.”

She pets him, “He is a dead man, you shouldn't speak like that...”

“I spent a long part of my life hoping him and his wife exchanged health states and this is the first time in ten years I don't. - he confesses, weakly – He is a dead asshole.”

“What about your friend, won't he feel sad?”

“He might. He always cared only about those who didn't care for him.”

She stares at him confused.

She doesn't know much about what happened.

She stared at Robb often, when she went to piano lessons, she was too clumsy and young to hide it as she blushed every time that beautiful boy with light making his hair all copper and ruby smiled at her and said his casual light-hearted “Good morning”. She remembers him rushing out of the house, white shirt and blue jeans, like in a song, and all his hair ruffled and rush smiling and never bad-mannered or cocky, rolling out of the door in a split second to go to his friend... who... was quite the opposite. She had heard a lot about Theon Greyjoy, a wet dream of many girls and a heartbroken nightmare of just as many, trimmed and charming but with enough commitment issues to be a young adult novel love interest.

She remembers falling for Robb quite quickly, as kids swim: falling into the pool in a second, head first, careless about drowning and breathing in all the water eagerly and stupidly. She fell with her heart on her sleeve, sewed up very loosely and ready to be taken away. She fell in love with cheeks burning suddenly red like apples, making his mother chuckle and smile, “Do you find him nice?”, she'd say, “I'll cheer for you, then, let's play good enough for him to want to listen” .

And then one day he didn't rush out for Theon.

She thought, maybe that day of the week they were not supposed to meet.

But they didn't the next time nor the time after.

And Robb looked sad, awfully so. His hair shone the same but his smile disappeared.

He looked like the ghost of that happy, handsome boy.

One time she remembers him coming down the stairs, slowly, as if his legs were frail, as she was playing the Dance of the Knights. Catleyn upon seeing Robb made an excuse to leave the room, the younger of the kids probably.

Robb arrived to the kitchen and poured himself some cold milk and cocoa powder.

She laughed a bit, without mean intentions, and he turned.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I'm sorry. - she smiled, still playing without too much concentration – I just found it cute.”

“Cocoa milk?”

“Well, most boys would get a beer when a girl is in the room.”, she admits, candidly.

Robb didn't even register her as a girl, to be frank, she never realized that much, and he had no heart to tell her about his preferences.

Jeyne was really cute, a smile made of tender stars.

He remembered his mother trying to matchmake them often, to push them together – she approved of her and found her so cute.

He realized maybe he could have learnt to...

Maybe she could have changed him? Maybe he could have changed himself.

Maybe he could have washed Theon off his heart.

“Aren't you too old for piano lessons? - he asks, honestly – Usually it sounds more like a torture parents submit their 10 years old to.”

“It's no torture. - Jeyne smiles to him – I want to become a pianist one day.”

“Oh. An artist.”, Robb tries to fake some enthusiasm.

She laughs as if he had said something truly funny, “Oh no, nothing that big, the town theatre would be enough. A small life, you know? Little things, little lives. Maybe a small house with a fence, a couple of kids... - she blushes and hides her face, ashamed, as she realizes she spoke about kids with her crush – I mean, no rush I...”

“Kids are cute.”, he says, saving her from the embarrassment and sitting next to her on the piano stool.

“What were you playing then again?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

And Robb trembles. His eyes turn sad.

“Could you teach me?”

Jeyne shakes away the memories; recalling makes her dizzy and tired. That's all she knows though, regarding Theon Greyjoy. Friends and then suddenly no more.

And Robb seems to hold such a big grudge against him. And solely him. While his personality is all kindness and sun.

And Jeyne doesn't get it, she suspects Theon's personality was worse than she’d been told, but then again... Robb was his friend for ten years, wasn't he?

Could he have been so bad?

Little Jeyne with her tiny hands and tiny little white pretty dress, she kisses Robb's cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you sad thoughts.”

“It's okay, I'm sorry. - Robb smiles – Let's go to the animal shelter, hm?”

“Thank you so much for helping me with this. There are less and less volunteers...”

“It's fine. - he promises, taking the big rucksack at her feet with the extra food for the pets – I'd like to adopt some but I feel six dogs are already too much for my mom.”

Jeyne laughs, “Maybe in the future, we could.”

“Maybe...”, he repeats while thinking.

Jeyne holds his arm tight and forces herself to think everything is alright, after all.

“I was thinking... - she smiles – Why don't we go out to karaoke sometime with Jon and Ygritte...”

“Why?”

“I’ve never heard you sing. - she points out – I know you're good just cause Jon told me. Isn't it a bit weird that your girlfriend doesn't know how you sound?”

“I'm not good. - he cuts her off with a kind smile – And my songs are nothing special.”

She seems hurt now, but she can't complain because he is so sweet when he tells her that.

And he is always sweet, very, and she likes it in a way.

But it's how he always protects her, how there is a film deep as a moat and hard as concrete between their hearts... he is never truly open, honest and himself and she can grasp that much. She thought it may have been about waiting, maybe... maybe he would have.

But now it had been eight months.

And he was as guarded as the first day.

She hoped sex, sex would have made him open up, instead... not that they even had it often, for the matter. She started to wonder what would he desire. Cause love, affection, tenderness – those he showed her.

But passion?

She smiles while he brings the rucksack on his shoulders.

His eyes always look so sad.

If she could just heal the wound at the bottom of the sea of his heart, she would give anything to...

 

*

 

After that fight with Sansa, the two don't speak for a couple of days. Sansa seems very busy with her schedule of essays and extra visits in the professor's study – and when home she spends time with Margaery mostly.

He wants to make peace but he is unsure of how to.

The third day, it’s Sansa who knocks on his door and smiles, “Hey.”

“Hey. - he pauses – You are not angry?”

She shakes her head and sits on his bed, “Marathoning something?”

“I was checking how scary Stranger Things actually is, because little ‘King’s number one fan’ down there wants to watch it but mom forbid him to, so.”

“Exciting. - she lies – Look, me and Margaery kind of wanted to go to the city this weekend... Loras was supposed to drive us, but he stood us up to go out with his super secret boyfriend, so... would you like to come with us?”

“Cause you need a driver?”

“Cause it's an occasion to make peace? - she seems honest and cheerful – Also, discussing art with you would be funnier, because Loras sees gays everywhere and he is so into telling us trivia about the sex life of artists and it gets quite awkward?”

Robb laughs.

“I hate gays whose whole life is being gay.”

“I know. - she mouths – Aren't they scary?”

Robb sighs, ruffling his hair, “Bit.”

Sansa sits closer and leans on him, “So... how is it going with Jeyne?”

“You really don't like her, do you?”

“I don't like what you are doing. I find her pretty adorable. - she admits – But you are... not... into her that way.”

“Maybe I'm bisexual.”

She raises an eyebrow that screams  _bisexuals struggle with not being taken for gays scared to come out and you behave exactly like a stereotype?_ without any need for words.

“I like Jeyne. She is sweet and nurturing and...”

“...are you looking for a lover or for a babysitter?”

“She is nice.”

“Nobody is questioning that, Robb. - she sighs – I just don't think you love love her.”

Robb gives out a mechanical mocking laugh, “Well, loving loving somebody didn't work out quite well, did it?”

“Are you really telling me that? - she almost laughs in his face – For real?”

He lowers his eyes. Sansa pets his curls and he lets her.

“Think about her too.”, Sansa suggests, gently.

“I do, I do. I'm being good to her.”

She means to reply again but doesn't.

Robb raises his glance, “So, art exhibit this weekend?”

She claps, happily, “It's gonna be beautiful, I promise.”

He didn't go to one since Theon... He forces himself not to think about it, about him.

He was over him, over him, over all of him. No traces, no scars, no heart aches.

“Great...”

Sansa turns and looks at the guitar, “Robb?”

“Hm?”

“Can you play me something?”

“Maybe next time.”

“Only Jon can hear you sing?”, she asks, suddenly blunt.

Robb frowns, “Excuse me?”

“Hearing your feelings explicitly stated is a privilege and prerogative reserved to the only sibling you don't need to protect? - her eyelashes flutter slowly, she seems to be testing the waters with a prudent and analytical mind he had never acknowledged – Or is he the only one you don't have to seem strong in front of?”

Robb laughs nervously, metallically. He hides his face.

“I'm not sure what you're speaking about.”

Sansa looks sad, though, he can see her reflection in the computer screen.

“Seeing you this sad and you forbidding me to help... that is not protecting me.”

“I'm not sad. I'm doing fine.”

“Over him?”

“Over him.”, he fakely smiles.

And Sansa knows he’s lying.

She had decided a long time ago that she would have trusted more her mind than others' words.

People rarely know when they are about to crumble.

Her and Margaery thought in depth about every detail; the good thing about having a friend who is really good at thinking and playing chess is that, if you are sure not to be a pawn, you pretty much can count on her when pawns are others.

Well, it was a bit mean to call her brother a pawn, she realizes that.

But he left her no choice. He was as stubborn as both her parents combined.

He never listened to anyone. Just Theon. And Theon was not there, so...

They made sure to start the car early enough to be at the vernissage as soon as the doors opened, yet a crowd was already stirring and waving at the entrance. The flashy white neon lights seemed to make everything unearthly and big. They blinded the stars outside, making the sky seem like a black flat hole.

Sansa twirls her dress and enters quickly with Margaery, while Robb waits outside for another couple of minutes.

The moon doesn't shine that night. And he wants the stingy bitterness of a cigarette.

The cold fresh air seems to die in the artificial strong lights.

And he just wishes he could smell the sea and the sand and all he lost.

The last time he saw an exhibition...

He clenches his fist, as Sansa calls him, asking him to enter, and he fakes an awkward smile.

Over. Over him. Over Theon.

He is fine, he is great, he doesn't need him.

He doesn't think about him, he doesn't miss him, he doesn't feel his stomach fall in the gutter of his soul when he kisses Jeyne and hears her crystalline pure voice saying an “I love you” he can only reply with rotten lies to.

He doesn't hate gold and black now.

He doesn't remember him at every turn and swing, at every moonlight and sunrise, he doesn't sing about him in every song.

He doesn't die a bit every day in which he feels his heart emptied and consumed, buried somewhere between his ribs and vertebras.

He is over him.

He...

“Robb?”, Sansa looks at him like if she could see beyond every mask.

She caresses his hair, her same hair.

They look so alike.

Maybe, maybe if he had been like Sansa, Theon wouldn't have gotten scared. Maybe they wouldn't have...

“Please, come in with us...”

“I will. - he swallows – I just felt a bit sick.”

For a moment, he thinks she will suggest going home, but she doesn't. Robb doesn't give it importance yet, maybe – he supposes – she thinks seeing art will help him a bit, or maybe she doesn't want to ruin the fun for her friend; regardless she offers him no escape and Robb takes none for himself. He follows her in the gallery through the crowd.

The arrangement of the works is not the best, it looks like everyone craved a center space and they formed a series of poorly organized mountains. Robb struggles to find something interesting, somehow, the level is lower than that of a normal exhibition, and also way more... modern?

Sansa and Margaery check every single name and keep talking in a low voice.

Robb turns to them, “I'm not sure I know anyone here? Is it like extreme contemporary?”

Margaery smiles and grabs his arm gently yet firmly, “Oh, yes, but isn't it interesting? Seeing the new evolutions art is taking?”

Robb becomes suspicious, but doesn't comment.

Sansa seems nervous and troubled by an unsaid waiting, looking around restlessly.

It's then he sees it.

It's almost alone, in a parallel circular room. One would think the position is bad for not being central, but instead its isolation becomes magnetizing, interesting, like it created a sacred empty space around it.

Robb walks towards it and Margaery lets him.

It's a sculpture, Robb is not sure which material, a raw, rough metal, maybe copper – it looks unpolished and harsh. It looks dark, dusty, dirty even.

It represents a man, sitting on a rock – he is ugly and has just a pair of huge, sad, peevish, terrified eyes, no mouth on the face, the nose looks chopped – he is staring intently at the only part of the sculpture of another material: his own arm.

That arm is made of crystal, maybe glass, so transparent it can be looked through. It's the only clean part.

The arm is almost clenched, veins all over them tensed and bones popping on the hand. The arm seems in pain.

And yet, it doesn't look like it’s part of the same man.

The man pines from phantom pain, for an arm he lost and can just remember.

A phantom limb. And the better part of him.

Robb lets out a bitter laugh, a guttural sound.

That sensation. He knows it, he knows it too well. It keeps him awake at night, as he remembers his heart.

His glance trembles on the statue.

For a moment, he feels lighter.

He is about to cry and he knows it, because that... that dirty copper and clear glass and those sad eyes bring to the surface something he tried to drown deep inside him.

It exhumes it, he unearths it fully and brings back all the pain in a seaquake that drowns him too.

His lips quiver.

He is so much lighter, with all that pain out. He doesn't have to press it under the surface anymore.

Someone knows it, someone understands it.

And he is not alone anymore.

Sansa and Margeary reach him, and upon seeing them he wakes up from his thoughts.

“Do you like this one?”, Sansa asks, curious.

“Yes... I mean, it's... interesting.”

He moves slightly, looking around the statue, searching for the label with the artist's name and the title.

He suddenly sees it, bright yellow with typewriter letters.

The title just says: “ _R_ ”.

R. A big, strong, bold R.

He frowns, confused. He expected something different, more understandable, while  _R_ left him without any information.

What does  _R_ even stays for?

Robb shakes his head and reads further to discover the name.

Theon Greyjoy, first year, Sculpting and painting dep.

He trembles, he swallows and clenches his fists.

Again?

Theon, again? Taking over him? Meaning so much to him? Opening his heart and peeing over it?

He clenches his teeth in anger and Sansa tries to make herself look as small as possible.  
“Is this the academy exhibition?”

Sansa nods weakly, “We thought if you two met you could clarify...”

“Really now?”

Robb's smile is a grimace, sharp and pointy. It could cut.

He looks so hurt.

“I promise.”, Sansa whispers.

He lets the grin die, because it's not at her he is angry, and not even at Theon. He is angry at himself, he is furious with himself.

Because he is still so easily touched by Theon, even without knowing it.

Because he still loves him.

And he can't forgive himself such a deep stupidity.

“Can we go?”

“Yes, sure... - Sansa seems so mortified for actually hurting her brother, she lowers her head – I... I think he should even go now before he comes...”

“What?”

“The artists come in some minutes.”, Margaery says, holding Sansa by the shoulder.

Robb seems to be ready to drop on his knees, as he turns and he sees a bunch of young people with weirdly colored hair and last unofficially trendy hipster clothes.

Nausea catches him fully, but leaves quite as quickly.

He doesn't feel sick, when he sees him.

He is not angry or sad either. He doesn't know what he feels.

It's the sensation of being lost at sea and seeing the horizon shining violet and pink before dawn.

It's being home and stranded in the same salty breath.

Theon is there, in front of him, real, no memory or imagination or mind trick.

His lips tremble and words don't fall out.

He looks so different. His hair look almost greyish, they are still long and soft but less taken care of, he is wearing a nice suit but not his usual taste, and he... he dropped at least ten kilos. He looks so skinny, Robb feels now a weird ache in his stomach. It's way more than ten kilos.

His wrists are so thin, his skin so pale and he looks so tired.

Robb recognizes weird signs on his neck and hands, like burnt pieces. Maybe he works with weird materials.

But he looks so small. He doesn't smile nor smirk.

“Is... that... Theon?”, Sansa almost gasps.

He doesn't look fine.

“He looks like a meth addict.”, Margaery whispers.

And Robb can't contradict her.

But to him, what he feels is worry. He doesn't find Theon ugly or scarred or ruined.

He just thinks... what happened to hurt him so?

And he sees still those lips and remembers their taste.

He moves towards him, without thinking.

But then he sees that man, passing his hand on Theon's back, his ass, catching, clutching him into his claws. Theon startling and smiling weakly at him.

That man touches Theon as if he belong to him.

Robb moves further away, trying to push himself not to feel hurt.

So... it was not for a girl or girls or norms and normality or being judged? It was not to prove his father he could be good too?

Theon broke up with him for that man?

Robb goes pale and Margaery grabs him and tries to walk him out from another door. Sansa stares at the man intensely.

On Theon's face there was no joy and no love.

There was fear and tiredness.

Like a dog faithfully bond to a strong master.

She feels her heart flutter weakly as she thinks about Joffrey and how he held her waist.

Margaery has to call her a couple of times to make her move away, but she doesn't until Theon turns, sees her and becomes pale with shock.

When the man almost turns, he distracts him, asking him if he'd fancy some wine. He obliges and smiles.

She moves away, quickly, because she knows that's what Theon tried to let her do.

She doesn't get why yet, but of one thing she is sure: her and Robb can't abandon him there.

She returns to the car, where she finds Margaery concerned with Robb, who looks pale and as weak as if he had seen a ghost.

“Robb, I...”

He interrupts her with a heavy silent look.

He doesn't say anything, she dares not protest.

His heart is racing in his throat and words got stuck in his Adam’s apple.

“I'm fine. - he promises, trying to gain some strength – Let's go home.”

“He doesn't look happy without you either.”

Either.

He turns on the car, ignoring her.

Whether he still loved Theon or not, he was sure Theon was happier without him, after all.

He was so sure... and it hurt him so.

 


	12. Chapter 12

** 12\.  You say that you're no good for me 'cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve **

* * *

 

 

Robb gives a shy laugh and adjusts the microphone in front of his mouth.

“Today we're going for something sad. - a weak laugh – What a surprise, hm?”

He passes his fingers over the chords and closes his eyes, preparing to sing.

Jon sighs, sipping his drink, while Ygritte leans on him with a concerned expression.

“Is he fine?”

Jon shakes his head, “He met him again, that's what Sansa told me. And since then he looks like the ghost of himself. Jeyne called but I'm not even sure what to tell her.”

“The truth?”

“I can't tell the truth, it's my brother, I have to have his back.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Did it cross your mind that your brother would need to be forced to be himself more than to be allowed to hide and lie?”

“I don't think it would change much. He still loves Theon, bugs me why.”

“Pft. - she shakes her head – As if you weren't the same idiot type who'd love the same person forever.”

“You're not Theon Greyjoy, though, allow me to point out.”

Jon glances at Robb singing, at how his voice twirls and lowers, at how much better he sings when he’s thinking about Theon... He doesn't get it, how can Robb love someone who doesn't deserve him?

How can he fall so low to still be thinking about Theon?

And yet, the sad smile on his lips with every word he lets out, that speaks for his heart aloud and the din echoes.

He's pulling the elastic and it will snap back and hit his skin with a bruise and a burn.

“I'm not sure what to do...”

“What did your sister suggest?”

Jon rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “Getting them back together. She is a diehard romantic. - he sighs – She is so into them having a happy ending she even thinks of Theon as an abducted damsel in distress...”

“Quite hard to picture...”

“She says she thinks the man he is with now is evil. - he laughs a bit, entendered – She needs to make him the villain, so she can still dream that her brother will be reunited with his one true love.”

Ygritte pauses.

“Sansa is a pretty good observer, though.”

“Yes, but her heart tends to blind her.”, he checks on Robb and smiles at him.

His expression soon dies out as she sits next to them.

“Good evening.”

Ygritte's eyes widen as she tries not to spit her drink, Jon nods, weakly, “Jeyne.”

She smiles, shyly, “I'm sorry I'm surprising you but Robb always acts so mysterious about his things and I just wanted to let him know I'm supporting and he has nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jon hopes the earth opens and swallows him.

His voice comes out breathy and balled up.

“That's... great...”

Robb doesn't look at their table at all, despite Jon praying very intensely for it to happen, and, instead has the great plan of singing another song.

Jon now hopes the earth not only swallows him but makes sure to never let him rise again.

“I'm not sure how you're still here... The back of my head is your playground again.”

She smiles as he starts singing, his low voice resting on her heart soft like silk, better than she ever thought he could sound. Jon sighs as he realizes which song it is.

Robb has watery eyes as he plays off with a smile, “I thought I could be able to forget... but I saw you and I'm caught in the undertow.”

Jeyne's smile slowly fades and she frowns slightly.

She seems to find an answer and holds onto it, while kicking back another that comes after, subtle, slower, deeper and scarier. She holds her purse's handle and forces a smile again.

Robb doesn't even see them, her; he looks in front of him. Not even the audience catches his attention, just something else, beyond the air and the purpleblue lights: a memory so tender it fills the night and makes it shine quietly.

His voice gets darker, fuller – heartache really does bring out the best.

“I miss the nights spent melting... your collarbones, your hips and moans.”

Her fingers get weak, let the handle go slowly. Her eyes twitch a little to avoid a tear swallowing her heart to come out.

Robb smiles sadly looking beyond them all.

Her latest suspicion comes to her with a gentle slap and a cruel kiss. And then she is sure.

Those are not words for a friend.

“I've got your smirk tattooed on my bones... - he sings, moving his head, enamoured with the memories she is not part of - ... you're the sand my flesh is made of.”

As her breath leaves her, she can't smile anymore. She doesn't cry either.

She stays there, Jon now so worried and mortified, he caresses her arm, and she gives him a courteous and kind expression. She tried to keep it all together.

But on her pretty white dress, slowly, little, small, darker stains appear, of a gentle light blue. And she needs a tissue, when Robb's voice, sweet as honey, sings about someone else.

She stands up, “Please, don't tell him I was here.”

Her voice sounds as soft as snow barely fallen on the ground and Jon can't explain why she'd bother being like that with sadness spilling from a fresh wound.

He can't understand much. She vaguely reminds him of his friend Sam, in a quiet way, of shiny small gems that find no shame in defeat and know the dignity of admitting their loss. She smiles and leaves with a gentle, “Have a nice evening, please.” .

Her dress twirls.

She looks like a princess.

Theon never looked like that.

Jon doesn't stop Jeyne, he thinks he has no right to stop her, to force her to stay if she needed to hide or cry or be alone. He lets her go, but stares at Robb, as he returns to the table, with a relieved smile, a slight sweat and the lighted heart of one who opened a wound and let it clean out.

“You were good...”, he says, trying to pretend nothing happened while he felt a burnt in his stomach at the idea of keeping his mouth shut.

“What’s with those long faces? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“You know, if... forgetting Theon is this... hard for you...”

“What? The song? It was not about... you know what, going like...to drink something and...”

“Robb. - Jon sounds firm as if he's scolding him – Go to talk to him.”

“Why should I take advice from you? You never liked him.”

“But I liked you, as a person, and this is not how you used to be.”

Robb doesn't reply, storms to the bar, pushing away the thought of Theon, skinny and with deep bags under the eyes – He didn't look happy. That was his only comfort: thinking that maybe he did need him, that without him he fell into drugs or issues, that he was maybe unhappy.

Maybe, he was necessary.

Maybe, Theon did need him.

But what if he spoke to him, if they met and clarified and it turned out Theon was happy? Or happier? What if he discovered Theon, after all, didn't need him to be happy and healthy and okay?

What if only him needed the other to be happy?

“A Tim Collins, please.”

What if Theon loved that guy more?

If he spoke to him, if he saw him, what would have he found out?

And would have Theon understood, from just looking at him, that he was still in love?

Still stupidly, ridiculously, in love?

 

*

 

“I’m telling you he was scared!”

Sansa has been scolding him since half an hour by now and Robb already threw at her all his pillows, trying to get her to stop and let him sleep his hangover away, but his sister is as stubborn as their father and as determined as their mother, so Robb's only chance of getting peace right now is death.

Of course, god doesn't help him.

_That's what I get for being gay? After years of loyal Catholicism? Somebody is really touchy up there..._

“San, I beg of you, let me sleep...”

“Sleep while Theon is in the hands of that brute?”

Robb emerges from the blankets looking well... a car driving him over would have made him look slightly better probably...

“He is an adult man.”

“And this implies what, excuse me?”

“He can punch that guy if he doesn't like him?”

“Like he punched his dad?”

“That's different, you can't punch a parent.”

Sansa is losing her patience and stares at Robb disappointed, “You know what I mean. Theon is a huge pushover when around people who have manly authority.”

“San, he is not a kid. He can take care of himself.”

“Look, why then Asha was not present at the exhibition? - she points out – If he was happy, if the exhibit was something he felt comfortable and happy with, he would have invited her to come and she wouldn't have lost it for anything in the world.”

“Maybe they fought over, I don't know, Theon ditching his father's funeral?”

“But that's also suspicious!”

“Sansa, you just want us to be together but you can't force it.”

Sansa sighs and stares at him with watery eyes.

“You think I'd make up him being in danger? - she bites her lips – I don't need this, Robb. I would tell you to speak to him regardless, as I did, often. I wouldn't make up lies.”

Robb lowers his head, he knows she is right. Terribly right.

“Maybe he is just.. you know, doing some shit.”

“Like?”

“Drugs. Meth or coke or something like that.”

Sansa looks away, she tries not to cry, “Maybe, but, isn't this also something to be saved from? - she pauses – That guy didn't seem to be helping him or wanting to heal him. So he needs help, us, you.”

Robb squishes his fingers, presses them, until they get white.

“...but would he want to see me?”

Sansa frowns, “Remember when Bran got bullied in first grade? Did he want you to discover it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Is it better you did intervene?”, she asks, smiling, as she knows she managed a checkmate.

Robb smiles, proud and confident.

He stands up and Sansa grins, clapping, “Let's get ready then.”

“Not so quickly, young lady. - he stops – What do we know about the guy?”

“Which guy?”

“Bolton something, the curator. He flirted with Theon at an exhibit we were at together and now he found him again...?”

“This is either very romantic or very creepy. - Sansa catches a hurt look in Robb's eyes – Definitely, on the creepy side, I mean, he didn't exactly seem the Hugh Grant cute dork type.”

Robb raises an eyebrow, “Hugh Grant or Chris Evans, anyway we do have to find out something about him.”

“Maybe I could ask Tyr... professor Lannister?”

“He is a history professor not a CIA agent...”, Robb points out, tenderly, sweetly, finding his sister a bit childish.

It was a bit uplifting after all the maturity she showed.

“He'd help, though. - she claims, confident – He often surprised me with his ability in finding information. Also, he's surprisingly kind.”

Robb raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. It's hard to imagine that strict, mocking professor being anything but a snarky sass master.

But he couldn't dismiss Sansa's help after her encouragement.

“Then, sure, please do.”

He sees her smile getting thinner, though.

“There is no shame in loving him still.”

He doesn't reply and lets that sink deep in. He lets his skin feed from it as it did glow from the moonlight in the evenings spent with Theon on the beach.

And he feels a sweet breeze in his heart.

 

*

 

Theon's hands shiver.

He lets the hammer fall from his hands and he catches it back with labour. His knuckles hurt from all the times Ramsay hit him with a ruler to straighten his position.

The marble dust paints him white, the clay dries his skin.

He rests his head against the cold glass.

Robb.

Robb never leaves his mind.

He hasn’t slept in weeks, he keeps thinking about him, he wakes up at night sweating, sure he is in the room, next to him.

He wakes up and searches for his lips for a kiss.

He just finds the hard cold ground.

Robb is never there close to him.

His missing limb, his missing heart...

He fooled Ramsay into thinking the R. referred to him, who made his arm of mere disgusting worthless metal into crystal with the amazing abilities of his curatorial mind, pft. Ramsay's ego was his weakness.

But despite that, he didn't earn much.

A bit of quiet, mostly.

Ramsay let him work on the piece without suspicion and allowed him to continue the R. series without complaints, which was more than he had hoped for, at that point.

But just thinking of Robb was so hurtful and made him so mournful there was little joy in expressing it.

His veins were filled with grief and as much as he bled it out in art, still, it didn't stop, it went on and on and he kept being filled with it.

His Robb...

He caresses the glass and wonders what he was doing now, if he enrolled in the faculty his parents wanted him to, if he found a cute girlfriend – or boyfriend – and if he still sings.

His voice... oh, his voice.

He still can't listen to some songs without hearing his voice all over again, in his ears, in his chest, beyond him, and it cuts him so deep he is just flesh on the silver plate of sorrow.

Maybe he forgot him...

Maybe he hated him.

No, he can't, Robb couldn't hate him, he couldn't bring himself to hate anyone – that little Luke Skywalker would have saved Darth Vader every damn time. He always saw the good in people.

Even in him.

Even in him, where there was never any.

He bends on the scalpel and pierces a bit through his thigh with it, clenches hit teeth and roars and screams and lets it out.

He can't let himself drown in the memory of Robb, whom he'll never see again.

He belongs to Ramsay now.

And if he knew...

Robb shook his bones still at night, the memory of his words, of his eyes and arms – the way he felt belonging. If he stayed there, if he believed hm...

His father... Asha...

He read the necrology in the newspaper, but he found nothing he could have said. He thought, maybe, he could have asked Ramsay permission to have his mobile and write Asha condolences. Taking it from the box, that was unthinkable.

He wouldn't have forgiven, he wouldn't have forgotten.

Maybe, if he asked with a proper please, if he begged, maybe... Ramsay was strict but not cruel without sense, it was his fault, after all, if he contradicted the rules he would get punished, of course.

But then again, even if he asked, even if he spoke, of which comfort could he have been to his sister? He was always so spineless and useless, he probably would have been of little to no help.

She surely would have managed it better without him burdening her with his grief too and forcing her maybe to even find nice words to tell him to comfort him about his father's lack of love.

She surely didn't need to pat him on the back, to hug him.

She needed someone who'd be a strong rock for her own pain.

And he, he was just weak.

Of which help could he be?

Of which use?

_Not anybody would put up with me as he does_ ...  _He's patient, he's generous_ . 

_He's evil._

_He is fangs in the dark._

_But do you deserve better_ ?

... _no_ .

Maybe Asha would have been so disappointed in him, she wouldn't have been angry even. Just tired, tired of him, like he was.

And then, maybe, she'll forget him.

Like his mother.

Like Robb.

They'll forget him and he’ll leave them behind, forever, where he can't disappoint anybody anymore, where he can't hurt or let down. Where his place is.

 

*

 

When Robb is at the door, her first instinct is slamming the door and closing him out.

But she doesn't, she forces herself to swallow and hide her frown.

“Long time no see.”

Robb shows her a big box from a pastry shop, “I've been awful and I'm here with a white flag.”

“I hope there's a chocolate flag in there.”, she chuckles, letting him in.

The house is a mess, dirtier than ever: at the center of the sink rises a mountain of unclean dishes, there are chinese take away boxes crowded on the table of the kitchen, a weird sweet and yet piercingly stingy smell. Robb tries to ignore it as Asha leads him to the living room, which she has decently arranged.

There are still some big boxes around, filled with clothes.

“I'm giving away his good stuff. - she explains, simply – He anyway mostly wore the same two pair of jeans and three sweaters since years.”

“He was a stubborn man.”

“He was. - she smiles and sits, patting the seat on the sofa next to her, inviting him like one would a cat – Why did you decide to turn up?”

“I should have come to the funeral... - he admits – But I didn't, I feared to see him.”

“Theon didn't come.”

“He doesn't need to be somewhere for me to see him there.”, Robb admits with a chocked laugh that ends in a sob.

Asha's lips bend and she ruffles his hair, gently, slowly.

“Two kids...”

Robb places the box of pastries on the little table in front of them and sighs, staring at the carpet, stained with beer, oil and something else, “I saw him the other day, for real I mean, at an exhibit in the city.”

Asha lights up, “He's...? Is he well, is he fine?”

Her eyes shine and her hands tremble in both joy and anger.

He's alive, but he hasn’t called her in months.

“We- I don't think so.”

“Did he get in some problems?”

“Maybe. I think some kind of addiction and he's with a weird man, Bolton something...”

Her eyes widen, “Ramsay Bolton?”

“How do you...?”

“He results on the visit register. He came to see my mother a couple of times. I thought he was an old friend but my father said he had no idea who it was. - she seems to grin, maybe madly maybe with satisfaction and wrath – I almost gave it up.”

“He doesn't seem like a trustworthy person. - Robb says, calmly – I don't care what Theon got himself into, we have to take him away.”

Asha nods, solemnly. Her face looks straight like an arrow, her eyes glaring on fire.

“That man... spoke to mom... - she blinks a couple of times and frowns, intensely – She... she must have told him... - she clenches her fists – Every time I went there she asked about Theon more and more, is he doing okay in school, is he doing his maths, is he playing a lot, when could she see her babyboy. She asked more and more and I, I thought it was because she was getting a sense of time, but no, probably that piece of shit told her something to upset her, maybe he, he...”

Robb hugs her and keeps her tight in his arms.

She always seemed so strong and shielded, and yet, right then, trembling with rage and horror and hurt eyes – she looked so much like Theon.

Two scrawny hurt kids hiding their bruised knees behind grins...

She just managed to walk with her head taller, after all.

He passed his hands on her back, caressing it, thinking about how much time they wasted suffering separately, instead of sharing their pain and comforting each other. How pride made them close their walls.

Asha's eyes jerk open in horror, “We have to get him.”

Robb mumbles, “But how? We don't know where this guy lives...”

“Does Theon go still to school? The academy? Maybe we can find him there.”

“We don't know which courses he is in...”

Asha is about to scream in frustration, she opens the box and pushes in her mouth four pastries, munching them violently.

Robb blinks, impressed.

“I'll punch him down the third floor, I swear to god.”

“We. - Robb looks at her – We will. If needed. But, more than everything, we need to find Theon.”

Asha nods and licks her lips, “He... if he can't use his mobile, he probably never updated his email password.”

“You know his email password?”, Robb squints his eyes.

“It was easy to guess, let's say. - she smirks – If we find the mail the school must have sent him with a username and codes for their site, maybe they will have online the courses he chose.”

Robb smiles, amazed.

“And then we can check the timetable and go to get him.”

“Yes!”

“And take him back.”, Robb says, his eyes shining as they hadn’t since so long.

And Asha knows she can't get Maron, Rod or her dad back. And that her mom, in a way, is gone too.

But her little brother, no.

They won't take him away from her.

She'll get him back, whatever it takes.

 

*

 

He arrives home smiling, he opens the door with haste and a happy urgency. “Sansa!”, he calls, one, three times in a row. He rushes to the living room still smiling, but then he doesn't find Sansa there.

“Jeyne. - his lips' corners get stiff – Hi.”

“I waited for you to call me today after yesterday's evening.”

“Oh, oh, shit, I forgot! - he promises, comes closer and hugs her, kisses her cheek, quickly – I'm so sorry, it was a very full day and...”

“Don't worry. - she avoids looking at him in the eyes – I came here just to ask something...”

“Sure, umh, do you want a cup of coffee or...?”

“Your mom gave me some tea. - a weird, bitter smile crosses her lips – She's been way too kind with me. And I'm asking you to do the same.”

Robb seems to get defensive, stiff.

“Wasn't I?”

“There is no kindness in denying people a curable pain, one can heal only the wounds that bleed outside, not the ones you don't dare to open.”

“I'm not sure I understand...”, he admits, trying to push far away a though, a fear.

Jeyne's fingers look thinner, smaller, her shoulders burdened.

She sighs, “Tell me the truth.”

“About?”

“About all that needs to be said? - now a sting of anger pours out and she brings herself to look at him – Are you thinking about someone else?”

“I don't know how you got this id-”

“And is this someone else Theon?”, she asks, again, unflinching.

Robb swallows, staying silent. He can clench his fists but he can't bring himself to talk.

“I'm not angry for you not telling me about... well, - now she smiles honestly, even if sadness paints it all over, as if she finds it ironically funny – Let's say the boy part. I get that... but if you thought about someone else... you should have told me.”

“I thought I was over it.”

Jeyne seems to freeze slightly, her skin turning paler and more fragile as glass about to shatter.

A little “oh” come out of her full lips, rolling, like an avalanche, and she doesn't try to stop the tears but they don't fall anymore.

She doesn't need them to feel like she's drowning.

And Robb looks so heartbroken, his big eyes shining and he looks like this giant tiger cub that just killed a playmate by mistake.

She shakes her head, swallows, clearing her voice.

“I get that... after all, we don't decide this stuff, right? Whom we like and so on...”

Robb lowers his glance, “I didn't mean to hurt you. And I know this can't comfort you at all, but...”

“Carelessness is not really a flaw of yours. - she sniffs – After a while, you didn't know anymore how to tell me, right?”

Robb laughs lowly, embarrassed.

“It's not a justification. - he bites his bottom lip – I think you fell under the wheels of me trying to prove I was done with it.”

She shakes her head and cups his cheek in her hand.

“It's okay. I guess this explains your distance... - she smiles melancholically at the memories barging in her mind – Sometimes, it seemed to me you were everywhere except with me.”

“If I could choose..”

“I know.”, she cuts him shortly.

She tries to smile again but it washes away quickly. Yet, she can't stay angry at him.

“Please... just try to be brave and honest with him. Tell him.”

“I- I don't think he still feels the same.”

“You also didn't think you'd still feel the same. - Jeyne laughs a bit – You should take into account a possibility of you being damn wrong.”

Robb nods, tiredly, trying to not show more of his insecurities. He didn't want to force Jeyne to be witness of his heartache and comfort him about it too, while she was already sad.

“I'll try to admit this absurd scenario.”

She kisses his cheek.

A weird string plays her heart and its flesh falls soft and weak.

“Did you find me stupid all along?”

“I never thought any little or any bad of you. - he promises in a whisper – I only always found you sweet and good.”

Jeyne nods, seeming to be standing firmer and stronger.

“You'll tell your mom we broke up. - she says – I'm not going to break the news to her.”

“She'll kill me.”

“She should. - Jeyne caresses his shoulder – I'm a gift.”

“You are... - he swallows – If you want to still have piano lessons, I...”

“I'm not changing teachers, Robb Stark. I'm very much in love with your mother's method and sorry to break it to you but I don't change life plans for boys.”

“I was just offering to be out of the house at the time, promise.”

“Oh, no, please, let's not make it awkward...”, she begs, patting his shoulder as if she was not sure to be ready to leave him behind.

“Could we...?”

“I'll think about it...”

“Thank you...”

Sansa descends the stairs slowly, looks at them in pain, wondering if she should say something to her. Because she remembers the pain.

But what can you say when you know the one you love misses heartbeats over someone else? And how can you explain to yourself you have a right to suffer when true love is blooming for someone?

And yet, happiness waits around the corner for everyone.

She holds the warmth flowing in her heart at the sweet thought.

She peeks a bit longer, staying in the dark.

“You shouldn't eavesdrop.”, Arya scolds her.

Her eyes widen and then she looks at her sister and whispers, “You gave me a heart attack.”

Arya crosses her arms, “Am I supposed to say sorry when you are spying?”

“Ssssh. - she sticks her tongue out – I'm just making sure it all goes fine...”

She shrugs, “Whatever. I came to tell you someone is at the phone for you.”

Sansa blinks, “Who?”

“He said he is your professor, he wanted to speak about the afternoon research? I'm not sure why but he seemed all super stiffy.”

Sansa nods weakly, “I'll go take it, thank you.”

“Sansa?”

“Yes?”

“You are kind of crappy at most cool stuff.”

“...thank you, Ary.”

“But you are good at stuff like telling how romantic movies are gonna end...”

Sansa comes closer to Arya and bends, springing on her knees, “I quite am, aren't I?”

Arya lowers her look, “Is Robb’s gonna end happily...?”

Her voice sounded so small and squished, that Sansa felt like she just chirped.

“What makes you doubt it?”

“He is never happy anymore. I kinda forgot how it was before.”

“Don't. - she shakes her head – Robb is very sad, it's a thing that happens to grown ups a lot, but sadness is never forever.”

Arya doesn't seem convinced, “How do you know?”

Sansa doesn't have a straight answer, a safe, convincing one. She doesn't have all the ways to make her sister believe her, they were always very different. Their only real common trait was probably her huge stubbornness.

She smiles.

“We're not gonna let it happen, are we?”

Arya grins, proud, “Not at all.”

Sansa raises her eyebrows, “That's my little rascal.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**13\. Craving the danger, as on it we lay, I can see your collarbones and, baby, I'm scared**

* * *

 

He touches his own neck, caressing it.

His fingertips find their way easily to the line on it, like a trench of darker skin. The bruise over it stings, tickles, but he can't register it as pain anymore.

It's almost pleasant, because he is doing that to himself.

He has control, at least over that.

It feels almost moving, almost sacred and pure. He presses on it more and as the purple stings harder, Theon tastes that longer and fuller.

There is sweetness in something as bitter as that thin, little, dark scar circling his neck like a necklace, a hanged knot.

Ramsay's gift.

His collar.

Carved gently yet persistently into his flesh, so he could have never taken it off.

He had also given him a nice bracelet: a pair of handcuffs branded on his wrists – a nice burn which made his skin darker at first and then lighter, harder, dead.

So he would have never thought he was not tied.

Tied to the filthy room he had in the big flashy mansion, tied to Ramsay's bed – or his floor, on bad days – and his hands, tied to himself, his fucking ridiculous useless self.

Tied and unable to unravel his rope.

He was his own rope, his own knot, his own end.

He swallows the salty saliva filling his mouth, acid rides the walls as his stomach clenches, again.

Ramsay likes to think he is in control about that too, but he is very mistaken. If he ordered him to eat, Theon wouldn't, or rather would and then puke it out in the toilet like a rat. He doesn't want to eat, not any extra than what he needs to stay alive.

Broth, some veggies, sometimes the luxury of bread and an egg, that's enough.

He is hungry, but he won't fill himself, he won't satisfy his body.

That cage of flesh.

That weak nest of betrayal.

His stomach may clench, twirl, twist, but he doesn't want to feel food on his tongue – no joy, no satisfaction, no needs content.

He won't allow himself to.

His fingers sink in the clay, dry and wet, soft and harsh. Nothing is the same, once he puts his hands into it.

It all gets ruined.

It becomes his art, part of him. And in this way, rotten, too.

Nothing stays pure.

He turns it all into ghosts.

As the clay drops a bit from his fingers, Theon wonders if he could consume himself too, become just skin and then disappear slowly...

Another piece for the R. series haunts his mind and doesn't let him sleep, but maybe, maybe at the end of that series, maybe he could melt into the sky somehow.

“Good boy.”

He hears his voice from behind.

“Looks like a nice work.”

Theon tries to straighten his back just enough to not let Ramsay know he was feeling sad, he shrugs the pain away, he shrugs Robb away.

_The pains of love... And they keep growin', in my heart there's flowers growin'..._

“Not as good as it could be.”

“If an artist made it, that is.”, he chuckles.

His chuckle is always gooey and sticky and dense like petroleum at the bottom of his stomach.

He sinks back into the ocean of his memories when Ramsay shuts up.

Finally, he thinks, bitterly with a weird elation from the silence.

It's not the type of silence he learnt to fear, rather the satisfied silence of when Ramsay's ego was so full he wouldn't focus on anything else.

“But in good hands, even you can reflect some light.”

Even him, hm?

“You need to clean. - he sneers – This room reeks of failure.”

His voice echoes like an avalanche and sinks into Theon's bones, but doesn't go far from there.

 

*

 

Asha swallows, parking.

She is sweating, her knuckles white on the wheel – on the bones red scratches and bruises. She had punched something, last night, maybe the wall or a wardrobe, insistently, furiously.

Robb doesn't comment, he can't.

He rests his hand on her shoulder, “We can do this.”

She swallows and clenches her teeth. She sighs.

“Do we have to bring her too?”, she asks, moving her head to point at Sansa, sitting on the back seat.

“I tried to leave her at home, she refused and almost bit me.”

“I'm not going to stay behind. - she crosses her arms – I couldn't relax. Also, I am the one who found you the leverage.”

“I thought the funny one was the youngest.”, Asha half-joked, nervously, trying to hide it out.

She takes out a cigarette and lights it up.

“Just keep safe, pretty girl, we don't want this to end badly.”

When she gets complimented, Sansa lowers her head slightly, as her cheeks become the colour of full apples kissed by late summer.

Robb would like to avoid her getting another Greyjoy crush.

“She is right, stay quiet.”

“I'm not Arya, I don't do reckless things.”

“No, but you are too much of a solo player for me to trust you. - he admits, worried – Also, I know you want to help him.”

“... details.”

“Baby sitter's rules aside. - Asha cuts them off and stares at Sansa – What did the dwarf say.”

“Professor Lannister, - she corrects more out of kindness than pedantry - , well, he said that Ramsay Bolton's father made a huge donation to the Academy casually a couple of months before his son’s nomination as professor and that the university he got a degree at, apparently, is not really a... well, A-class one. Actually, it seems he got kicked out of many schools for indiscipline, but he couldn't grasp more, at least until he searched, well, parallel.”

“Like?”

“Well, his record is clean, pristine. But the guy is creepy, so the professor checked other stuff like animal rest houses or kennels. A lot of dogs and cats disappeared and got identified after... - she swallows, as if she felt like puking, she takes a deep breath – Not whole, not alive. It was... well, really gross, anyway, it was always quite close to his expulsions and to some donations to the police force from a bank account traceable to Swizterland.”

“How did Mister History is a Chessboard discover all of this?”, Robb blinks, between impressed and freaked out.

Sansa looks a bit mortified, “I think he may or may not have looked into his father's papers.”

“...great, so all our infos are obtained illegally and we can't use them in trial, thank you, Sansa.”

“Don't be a little bitch. - she snaps – Sometimes you have to get your hands in the dirt, and you wouldn't, so I did.”

Robb sighs.

He looks out of the car, refusing to thank her for doing something like that.

Asha glanced at Sansa, “It was a great call. - she says, simply, with a proud smile – Correct or not, it may save my brother.”

Sansa smiles, “Professor Lannister said he can collect some stuff and make it look good, to prove he doesn't deserve that job and that he cleaned himself of animal cruelty, it should get him some time in jail. That would keep him away from Theon.”

“And he could also be a witness to ensure that.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“We won't force Theon to testify. - Robb half-orders, before realizing he sounds too authoritative, he calms himself down and breathes in – Sorry, I... I just want to get him out of this nightmare.”

“I know. - Asha ruffles his hair – But yell at me again and I'll break your legs.”

Robb looks enough terrified for Asha to feel complete and satisfied.

“Plan?”

“We go to that school and kidnap Theon.”

“How do we convince him to come? - Robb mumbles, frowning – If he is addicted to stuff, it may not be easy.”

Sansa puts a hand on his shoulder, “I'm sure when he will see you, he will understand.”

Asha lowers her eyes, “I have a baseball bat in the back.”

The two siblings stare at her in a cocktail of horror and awe.

“What? Every family has their own recipes.”

“Can we try not to go to jail while rescuing Theon from the creepy guy? - Robb seems to be begging both of them – I'd like to make it as nonviolent as possible.”

“I have a taser.”

“What?”

“Jon gave it to me for self-protection for when I come home late.”

Robb doesn't even complain anymore and turns on the car.

He wishes he could be as confident as the girls, to be fair, because he is terrified. He is jackshit terrified.

What if Theon is happy? What if he loves that guy?

What if he sees him and feels nothing at all?

What if...

He shakes his head. He needs to focus, but it all unravels and fails behind his eyes.

He thinks about Theon's smirk, when he flirted with girls, about his sweet smile, when they made love.

He thinks about Theon and loses himself a bit wondering if his Theon still exists, after all.

Is he following a ghost?

Upon thinking so, he meets a new urge: which is to bring him back and kiss him alive and kiss him his own.

 

*

 

The apartment is cold, violated by a hasty icy breeze. The morning passed and the colour of the sky got a tumid shade of hazel, swollen and bruised.

Theon warms his bones up with a cup of tea he can barely touch, because of how much it burns them. But there is a weird pleasure in that sting.

He can't sit straight anymore on chairs.

His hips are pointy and unsoft and every chair sinks into his flesh like nails. He is not allowed on the sofa, so he sips it on the carpet.

He cleaned the whole study, while Ramsay went out for work, and took some time to prepare him dinner. He made a goulash with a hint too much of paprika, to sting Ramsay's tongue – he wouldn't admit to be unable to bear some spice, which gave Theon that little pleasure of seeing him holding back a grimace and forcing himself to clog it down his throat out of the mere pleasure of eating while he didn't. He made it early, so to have some time by himself.

To stare at the door, which he could have escaped from.

But didn't.

He tried some times to go away, but Ramsay always got him back, sometimes with good manipulation, others by running over him with the car. Just enough to get him stuck in bed for a while.

He broke his leg once, after it healed, because he was not sure he learnt his lesson properly.

He stopped trying and wanting. Because, anyway, that hell was his place.

What a slice.

Another one of his solitary hobbies was watching tv, the most stupid show he could find, the cheapest, crappiest one. The ones so shallow that they couldn't touch him nor give him any emotion.

He was pleased by that, by not feeling.

When you don't feel, you don't fear.

When you don't fear, you can't be hurt.

He was good, but he did not enjoy pain when inflicted by others yet.

When Ramsay was away, though, he could also have some little pleasures, like closing his eyes and sleeping. Sleeping fully and with serenity, not awoken brutally by being fucked carelessly or being thrown from the bed down for having snored.

He could sleep deeply, as he could not in any other case, on Mondays and Fridays when Ramsay had six hours of lessons. 

He usually dreamt very confused things: lemon curd, ashes, Grey Wind searching for him – Grey Wind was actually quite a common guest, a body turning into a cage, peacocks, autumn leaves. Rarely anything happened and if ever, it was always something very soothing and very creepy at the same time.

He didn't question much; considering his awaken life, hardly anything else could have been considered a nightmare.

So, today, while he sips tea on the rug, he leans his head against the side of the sofa, letting his eyelids close.

He breathes in the cold breeze, he lets the woffs in his memory sink and his fingertips seem to remember how it was before it all.

Laying under the rain in the wet sand, his feet kissed by the ocean, the chest drizzled by the grey sky, bringing in the blue scent of pines and the dark balsamic perfume of salt, resting like a lost stone, rounded at the edges by the sea, and yet never softened at its core, and in the distance Robb's voice echoing would fill the cave of his ribcage with the overflowing, violent, vigorous tide of laughter and sex: living.

Now living is surviving, or better, penitence.

There is a subtle glory he can find in himself: at least, he knows he is worth nothing.

At least, he knows his value.

And yet, yet he remembers the taste Robb's lips had.

And he suddenly jerks awake, the cold tea in the cup next to him, the smell of pines still in the back of his head and his heartbeat racing furiously for the first time in months.

One wouldn't think about this often, but starving makes your heart slow.

So slow, like it's sleeping – it's winter.

He is almost calm in its weakness, in the darkness behind the lungs, labouring for each sickly beat.

Now, since that is so slow, every time Theon makes an effort, he is slow, and weak but he can't be; he'd get punished. So he rushes and starts panting, breathless he falls, because his heart can't do it.

Now, now his heart races.

And his head is dizzy and he can barely think straight. He is nauseated, his chest hurts.

Robb.

He can feel his veins pumping, his arm pinching.

He laughs, metallic, wondering if it's turning into a phantom limb for real.

Before he notices it, he is puking, bent on the floor, with big fat tears filling his eyes and bitterness covering all of his mind.

His arm trembles and hurts.

And he misses him so.

 

*

 

Ramsay Bolton was a man of refined taste, officially.

He had no sense of taste to tell cheap coffee from expensive one, but he'd snob with a horrified expression anything he knew costing less than an outrage. He had no palate for food in general, but he'd be never caught with anything less than the best in his dish.

And he was the same with art.

He barely would have been able to distinguish the Bellini from one another, but he wouldn't have hesitated to buy one or two for his living room, maybe next to that head of a dead stag or, why not, next to his collection of shark teeth.

Theon Greyjoy, though, that was a good deal.

He was an artist with good potential, diamond in the rough and all that, but, oh, so deliciously insecure under the shell of cocky self-esteem. So nice to break and to hear the crack of.

And now he belonged to him, to his project and contract.

Of course, he had to work a lot for him not to realize his skills, otherwise it would have been quite harder to keep him under control. Oh, but he did well.

Now, he belonged to him.

Now, he was not the weakest one.

He shakes his head. He sends it away.

His fingers clutch and clench the leather bag like claws.

Birds of blood flock in his veins and make his bones' cage stone that bends and wrinkles.

A revolting sensation fills him and Ramsay brings it back, swallows the puke filling his mouth and, jaw tense and dense nerves, fakes one of his tilted, sharp and thin smiles.

Control escapes him, like eels in water.

He needs it, he needs the little thrill, the safety –  _I'm not the victim, I'm not the weakest, I'm not forgotten. I'm not waste or scrap_ .

_He is under me, he is mine. I'm above_ .

Control is comforting, control fills your mind in elation and calm. Control is a tender hand which nobody gave you, and you took it and it's ice cold but warmth is a luxury you were denied and decided to refuse in the end.

And if the hands don't chose, if that touch you control and not them... then they can't take it away, right?

It's not going to be lonely anymore.

It's not going to be loveless anymore.

It trembles in his guts, it pulls his abdomen, it freezes him and sets him on fire: thinking about how much he needs that control and that controlled. How he is a slave of his slave.

And in the anger he finds, he bites his inner cheek to the pulp and blood.

The promiscuous beauty he took and made into shreds could have still come out, that pride could have still risen from ashes and... what if he left?

His glance meets hers, no, it can't be. He shakes his head.

He comes close to her, half charmed and half petrified, as if she were a ghost.

It's not Theon. It's the sister.

But... she looks so much like him: same nose, same cheekbones, same ridiculously soft black hair. On a woman, those bones look way less flattering, yet somehow she is even more masculine than him with a short haircut, making them look sharper.

She stares at the list of the student of the class and Ramsay realizes: she must be searching for Theon.

Maybe he could let her join too, she seems more resilient than the brother, but the nice horses to ride are often the harder to tame and break.

“May I help you?”

She doesn't shiver or startle, instead, she turns slowly.

She tries to seem clam, but Ramsay notices with delight her disgusted expression.

“I was hoping to meet my brother. - she says, plain and proud, staring into his eyes – But I don't see him.”

“I'm afraid, I'm not confident with the position of all my students. Maybe he is at another lesson or stayed home.”

“He hasn’t been home in a long time.”

He smiles at her, “Oh, well, these boys are all grown up, they make their own decisions.”

“Do they?”

Ramsay felt his face tighten and tickle, his smile turning nervous.

That fucking bitch.

“I'm late, miss, if you please to stay, you are more than welcome.”

“I'm gonna find Theon. - she shouts, putting herself between him and the classroom – I'm gonna find him and bring him back.”

Ramsay is virulent and purple in wrath by then as he gives a low smirk.

“Who? - his eyes shine of the colour of snow dirtied by cars and mud – Is that your brother's name? - he grins – Sorry, I have to go.”

Asha moves, almost instantly, without realizing how light her legs feel.

She moves away like a dead leaf.

Ramsay smirks for his victory and closes the door behind him.

Good.

 

*

 

Theon's fingers move nervously on the wood, trying to clean it well. The rug stinks still like his puke and he can feel his chest tearing in pain as well.

His arm refuses to stop hurting, it's heavy like metal and feels hardened like stone.

The bell rings.

He freezes.

Nobody ever rings: Ramsay enters without asking, of course, it being his house, and his father knocks almost silently. He almost wouldn't think it's their own bell, if it weren't for how acute and loud it is.

He doesn't know what to do: rush to the door or not?

What if it's Ramsay who forgot the keys?

What if it's someone else?

But who?

While he thinks, suddenly, there is a knock, but not from the door, from the window. He turns and sees her.

Orange sunset hair, sweet smile, tears in her eyes.

Sansa.

Sansa. There. What.

She signs for him to open the window or the door, she seems distressed. And he rushes to open the door and she throws herself in his arms, suddenly and emotionally.

They fall down, with a loud crunchy sound.

She seems scared and pulls back, “Did... did I hurt you?”

She puts her hands in front of her mouth.

Theon used to raise her always, easily too, to hug her and let her twirl when she had long dresses as a child. He was strong.

Now, he feels like a ruin.

And his hair? Part of them, at locks, are greyish, almost white. And he is so skinny he looks older.

Where is her pretty boy with dark silky hair and a confident smile, which made so many girls fall in love, her too, and her brother right after? Where is the kind boy hidden under a bad attitude and cocky behaviour? Where is the Theon she remembers?

What she sees is a ghost, no – a nightmare, a nightmare Theon would fear being himself.

She passes her hands on his cheeks, caressing them, “What did he do to you?”.

“I did this to myself.”

“Come. - she stands up and pulls him up with her, he follows easily and she realizes in horror she is heavier than him - … you look... so...”

“Dirty?”

Sansa is ashamed to admit, that would be better.

All she can think about are those old documentaries about people dying of starvation during wars.

“A shampoo won't hurt. - she tries to joke – Please, come, we have to go, quickly.”

She tries again to pull him, but this time he resists.

He stays still, his hand slips from hers.

“I'm not coming.”

“What? Why?”

“He'll find me. He'll take me back.”

Sansa frowns, “Then, we'll call the police. He can't take you away. We will protect you.”

“You can't. - he yells, then his voice disappears and becomes a whisper - ...he doesn't keep me here, I, I keep myself here. You can't protect me, Sansa, I'll come back, I'll always come back.”

“Why? Why would you?”

“It's my place.”

When he says that, his fingers caress hers and she almost believes his dedication.

But then, she gets nauseated.

Of course, she believes him, like she believed herself.

And that she can't accept. That she can't let him do. That she can't forgive him, or herself.

She pulls his wrists, “Do you love him that much you'd let him do this?”.

He flinches, shivers. He lowers his eyes.

They shine in sadness, get wet and heavy in a veil of dark earth burdened by months of incessant rain.

“I love him enough to stay away from him.”

Sansa, at first, doesn't understand.

It makes no sense. Then why doesn’t he leav...?

Her eyes widen, not in joy or relief, the idea of foreboding happiness breaking the dawn and shattering pink light across the earth.

In horror.

Pure, mere, thick and gooey horror.

“You don't hu... he... - she shakes her head – He doesn't want you to stay away.”

“It's better like this.”

“Theon, you can't be serious. - she turns, nervously, searching for something, fearing maybe an unawaited return – Theon, please.”

“I just... whatever I touch, I make it rotten. I hurt people, I disappoint them. - he breathes in and Sansa notices he is missing some teeth – I'm not worth it. And he... he is like me. I don't have to fear how he'll see me, he knows me... he...”

“No, he doesn't.”

She pulls Theon strongly, she tries to force him to cross the door.

“He doesn't, he doesn't! - she almost scream, tears pooling warm – The Theon I know, he wouldn't leave his sister alone, he wouldn't be uncaring of his father's death, he wouldn't make me cry without making a stupid flirty joke and he wouldn't abandon Robb.”

“Robb doesn't...”

“Robb is a mess. - as her eyes meet the scar on his neck, she feels puke rising but she forces it down – Robb is tired, he gets angry, he acts selfish. He is so sad he broke the heart of a girl just to get over you and couldn't... you, you two, both, without each other are not yourselves at all. - her lips quiver, tears roll on them – I get that you don't like yourself, I get you regret mistakes and choices and, you think I never felt like, after all, I didn't deserve better than Joffrey?”

She sees it: hesitation. His eyes shine ablaze.

Her voice turns surer, “But don't tell me you are happier here than with us, at home, with me and Robb and Jon and Asha and your mom...”

“My mother doesn't even remember my name.”

“Really? - she asks, bending her head a little, trying to smile, but tears get in the middle and her eyes sting and she trembles so much her smile vanishes – Because every time I bring oranges to her she asks how you are and if they are form you and asks how her little boy is...”

He doesn't seem to believe her, but it doesn't matter.

The doubt is there, and he shivers.

Fragile as glass, he moves forward slowly.

She keeps her hands now under his elbows, helping him – she notices he is struggling to walk straight, but he is so thin, she can't blame him for the weakness.

When they cross the door, Theon sees a car parked there, empty.

And it seems so easy, and it seems so natural...

Sansa seems confused, but doesn't tell him why, she nervously checks her messages and then calls someone, quickly, but getting no answers.

When she turns again towards Theon, his expression has grown sad.

His skin looks paler, his eyes darker, the sea breaks behind his walls and his voice trembles in the wind.  
“Did you come alone...?”

“Actually...”

“Coming alone would have been quite sad, wouldn’t it?”

Theon turns, pupils frozen open like a cat's. He moves suddenly and, without realizing it, bends a little, as to seem smaller.

Sansa swallows, taking a couple of steps back.

“Now, your sister was at my lesson today, after a delightful chit chat, I figured I should have paid you a visit, before she did. - he snickers – And it seems, I’ve arrived in time. - his sharp grin cuts through Theon's lungs, leaving him breathless and emptied – How many girls in your life, ready to save you. It's true what they say, then, that the gentle sex has a soft spot for lost, worthless causes.”

“Wouldn't that imply me coming after you?”, Sansa asks, staring in the eyes.

Theon glances at her, terrified.

And silence happens.

Just silence, a long, furious, dense of wrath silence. But not more.

He imagined... the earth opening up, her dying on the spot – facing Ramsay like that, being that direct... he would have whipped him to a pulp.

...he would have let him.

A sick, weird realization takes over him.

Ramsay raises an eyebrow, “She has a stingy tongue, hasn't she? - he bends his head on the side – But you should keep it in the mouth.”

A lukewarm sludge fills Theon's throat, almost chocking him.

“Let her go.”

“What? - he laughs, irritated – What is this fashion of telling me what the fuck to do, hm?”

Theon sighs, finds the loudest calmest voice he has, but stares in his eyes, “She has a big family, they will search for her and find her. Let her go, she is a child, she won't come back.”

“She will and so will that fucking bitchy skunk of your sister. She wants you back home, - he mocks an overly sweet voice – Who would do that, hm? Missing you, coming to get you, you must feel so flattered right now.”

Theon gives a quick look at Ramsay's pockets and sweats, moving slightly.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Sansa turns, “Theon-”

He puts a hand in front of her, stopping her. For a moment, he raises his neck, and he looks proud and sure.

“Go. Now. - he says – Don't return again, I don't want you to.”

“I'm not leaving!”

“You are.”, he roars at her.

The scar on his neck sinks grim in her guts.

His eyes are dark fire and admit to no refusal.

He looks like bones, and still he is pushing her away strongly enough, saving her at all costs – and then again, he thinks he only hurts...

Sansa moves to the car quickly and sets it in motion, half-crying, trying to think about where Robb went, why did he leave her alone, and why didn't Asha return yet, and she is abandoning Theon and she can't stay and she is unsure of what to do. The keys keep falling from her fingers. Tears make her vision blurred. Her breath misses.

Ramsay's hand finally leaves his pocket and Theon, breathing out, returns in the house, walking inside, crossing that door again, once again, maybe for the last time.

Ramsay closes the door behind them.

The grin turns into a bitter, sour, angry growl.

“You gave me an order, Theon, I don't appreciate it.”

Theon doesn't turn, he just breathes in, smiling as he can hear the sound of the car driving away, safely.

A good thing, at least a good thing, he did.

He can hear Ramsay pulling the security, finger on the trigger. 

Worst case scenario, he is gonna shoot him in the legs, or a hand.

Best one, in the brain or heart.

He doesn't turn yet, he doesn't want Ramsay to be the last thing he sees.

He can remember the blue beaches lit by tender moons, the sweetness of the salty kisses given between the waves – Robb's voice, Robb's hair, Robb's hands on his hips.

Robb's kiss.

He wants to die like that: as the boy who was smiling with Robb on the beach, utterly happy.

He swallows and then, instead, hears a buzz, like a deep, frying sound, electric and unnatural.

“What-”

Ramsay falls, unconscious at his feet, the gun rolling on the ground.

And then, in front of him, the sea opened and gave him back his moon.

And they gave him back.

A serious look, eyes full of fear and adrenaline, in his hands a taser. But when their glances meet, there is just enchantment.

For some reason, the tides can't be stopped by the wishes of the cliff.

No matter how much they'd want to spare them from shattering.

A sea needs its cliffs and will always need to return to them, thunderous, ferocious, voracious.

He doesn't smile, he just shares a look that is hurt and glad at the same time, as if torture and relief met.

“You came...”

 


	14. Chapter 14

I would like to thank all of you who read/liked/commented this.  
I am pretty doubtful on how is it possible some of you LIKED this fic, because I for sure do not consider myself really worth of appreciation as a writer. But you surprised me and encouraged me and I feel very embarrassed (in the good way).  
Hope next works will be of your taste too.  
Really, thank you.

 

* * *

 

** 14\.  I carved your name across my eyelids - you pray for rain, I pray for blindness **

* * *

 

 

Theon's eyes glance over to him, as a caress of waves, emerged from the darkness of the night.

He glimpses at him, and suddenly his eyes fill with tears and they gulp out and fall over his cheeks and on the ground.

He can't even see he is doing it, he can't feel them.

A broken heartbeat punches at his throat and makes him stutter, his eyes tingle and his lips tremble so much he'd want to stop them with nails.

Robb stays there, doesn't say much – he looks emptied, tired.

But he is Robb, and to Theon he could never look like anything else but heaven.

“I... - he starts, the swallow, comes close to him – You should go to Sansa, quickly.”

Theon remains still, while Robb gets closer. Suddenly, he feels quite embarrassed.

How does he look? He knows for sure he is not the sight for sore eyes like he used to be and his hand moves to his hair, behind the ear, where some had gone almost white after that time with the drill.

He feels weird, colder. Suddenly, all the kilos he lost make him feel naked, exposed – he can feel a breeze crossing him and cutting through his bones.

“Why did you...?”

“I couldn't leave you here.”, he says.

He is not smiling, he looks troubled, angry. Not with him, though.

With himself, rather.

And Theon is unsure why.

As they are close again, his hand touches Robb's arm, he swallows, “Why didn't you show up before?”

“I was not sure I wanted to see you.”

That was a good punch in the guts.

“Ah...”

“Then he arrived, so I waited for the right moment... - he lowers his eyes, then looks at him – You would have returned in to save her...”

Theon laughs, his tears getting heavier, “Of course.”

Robb opens his mouth, ready to say something, but then he stops, shakes his head and mumbles, “Go to her, she must have parked close to here. Go to the car.”

“And you?”

“I have to find some evidence, some proof, anything.”

Theon for a second stops crying, while he notices Robb's eyes are the colour his dreams are drenched with.

“On the first floor, third door, in the first drawer of the desk. He keeps the photos there.”

He says it tiredly, in a whisper.

Robb frowns, then starts walking up the stairs, moving beyond Theon. He can feel his heart clenching.

He looks so small...

“... you... you broke up with me out of nothing, you abandoned me, you disappeared with a text...”

Theon turns, his eyes still shining in tears, “I...”

Robb bites his lips, angry, his stomach burns – his bones call for fire. His voice turns electric, hurt, “You left me behind... I loved you...”

Theon's lungs drop.

He can feel them touch the ground and get squished on it.

His eyes widen in pain.

Somehow, he didn't realize. Somehow, hearing it makes it worse.

A tickled, metallic smile fall on his lips.

“...loved?”

Robb raises his head, his hand holds the banister, knuckles white. And then, he turns.

He turns and goes to Theon and hugs him, keeping him close – his head hiding against his chest, kissing his head, his soft hair. He can smell his scent.

That, that didn't change; the one beyond the heavy perfume he had, the one behind this weird untidiness, his own scent – that scent that to him was always all he couldn't have and all he wanted with every inch of his soul. 

Theon smiles, slowly, against his chest. And then cries harder, as if only then, only now he realized.

He is there.

He is there.

He smiles stupidly happy and Robb separates, his hand going under Theon's chin, the other caressing his now sharper cheekbone. For an instant, his fingers linger on Theon's ear, then his eyes meet Theon's confused look, and he pulls away. He puts his hand on Theon shoulders, trying to sound like a big brother, as he says “Go to Sansa now, I'm not sure how much we can hope the taser effect to last.”

Theon's eyes fall on Robb's lips, but he forces himself to stop looking at them.

He said “loved”.

Robb tries to separate then, but his hands don't obey him, they don't leave Theon's skin, they just slide down, they linger on his ribcage – so scarily exposed like branches of a tree in winter – and his hipbones. Theon breathes in, unwilling, a warm gasp exits his lips.

And Robb's eyes interlock with his own, for a moment, just one and he lowers them, but Robb pulls him from the nape and catches him in a kiss. He's hungry – Theon can feel it.

He tastes his lips and pulls them and bites them softly, then, catching Theon between gasps and pants, he pushes his tongue in and fills him, moving inside him, sweet and greedy and eager and tender.

He pushes up to Theon's mouth's end, the other running his fingers in Robb's locks, pulling him now close and now away, trying to breathe, interrupting, and then throwing himself again in the kiss. As if they couldn't exist apart.

Robb keeps him so close and so strong, fear tingling his fingers and making him rougher and yet so much sweeter. 

When he moves away, exiting Theon's mouth, he stares down at his lips for a long moment.

“I... I will take that... evidence. - he pauses, unable to stop looking at him – Go to the car. Now.”

Theon sucks his lips then smiles ever so slightly.

He can't even decode that feeling anymore.

And yet, it's the most familiar in the universe.

When he walks out of the house again, this time it feels so different: the trees look brighter, lighter the sky; there is a sense of truth in the space – as if only now he could cross it for real, invade it and rush away.

When he reached the car, he still didn't stop staring at the leaves tall up and the long concrete street – even grey looks bright.

Sansa is in the car, her breath frantic, her hands still on the wheel, but as she sees him she doesn't even smile, she rushes out and hugs him tight. They don’t speak. She feels like finally a lost piece returned to its original space.

She caresses his hair, she bathes in the absolute joy and kisses his forehead.

“Robb, he... - his name chocked him – He...”

“He wouldn't have left you there.”

She makes him sit in the back, gives him a blanket and, a couple of minutes later, as they see Robb arriving, living, disgusted, a huge box in his arms. He opens the boot, half-throws it in, wrathful and breathes in a moment before speaking to them.

He massages his face, presses cheek and jaw, breathes again. Then he forces a reassuring smile.

“Let's drive, we don't know how much we have.”

“ You go behind with him and call Asha. - Sansa mumbles – I can drive until there.”

“It's not prudent, I...”

“Robb, stay with him. - they both look at Theon, as he clenches his hands and makes himself small under the blanket – It's a couple of miles. He needs you.”

“I woul...”

He tries to object, but then his glance falls on Theon.

And a wind swollen with red fills his heart and lifts his stomach.

“I-I'll go.”

“Thank you...”, she just mouths, knowing she is not listened anymore.

She smiles, as Robb goes in the back of the car, Theon moves, trying to occupy as little space as possible. He looks at Robb, from down to up, shyly, as a child or a deer.

She drives, first quickly enough to get them away, then slowing down as they were safe; she checks them in the rear-view mirror.

They take time to stop constricting themselves straight. Theon breathes heavily, as if he can't find a way to not find it harmful – he stares in front of them, then lowers the eyes. He gets lost.

And Robb looks at him like he never saw something so fragile, like if he is contemplating ruins left from bombs. And then, Sansa thinks he found beauty in that, because Robb puts a hand on Theon's shoulder and pulls him close, gently yet firmly, and Theon rests his head against him, shaking.

And they fall asleep, like that, like children surviving a storm, hugging under the bed.

When Asha comes, she doesn't wake them up. She looks at her brother, wondering if there is life under the cortex. She sits and drives, Sansa puts her hand on hers.

As they travel, it starts to pour.

Loudly, grossly, fully – it covers it all in a bluish grey. But in the car, they feel warm.

 

*

 

He wakes up twenty-two hours later.

He opens his eyes so slowly, like they are heavy with concrete and marble.

The ceiling seems familiar to him, but he takes time to recognize the old paper-like dirty beige and the stain, made years ago, by water guns. He takes time to adjust to the softness of the bed. And to feel his legs, rested, his limbs and bones unpained.

He sits up, slowly. His lips are chopped and dry, but next to him, on the mattress, there is a bottle of water.

He grabs it and then, raising his eyes, he sees him, sleeping on the chair at the desk. His face is squished against the wood of the desk, in his direction, as if he had watched him all the time until the instant the night took him away.

He smiles.

He has a bit of a stubble, his hair ruffled, the same shirt.

Slowly, his eyes open too, as if in sleep he could feel eyes on him, and then he moves, rushed, to him.

“You woke up...”

A crooked, tiny smile, “For how long have I been asleep?”

“Somewhere between a whole lot of weed and an after-Xmas lunch food coma...”

Theon laughs, weakly, his missing teeth exposed.

Robb swallows. He sighs.

It's taking him time and Theon is not sure he can ask for any different, but it still stings as a sharp edge to see him so cold.

“I... did he...”

“Asha is at the police station. They might come to talk to you in the next days...”

Theon's lips quiver, “With the photos?”

“She had to.”

“Did you see them?”

Robb is not looking at him anymore, he stares in the void. His eyes tear up, get filled in salt and light, and he sucks his lips quickly, trying to gulp it down.

But it returns to surface in his voice that trembles and lets out a rattled, deep, sob.

“...no.”

“You suck at lying. - Theon laughs, bitterly, trying not to cry too, and sniffles – Always did.”

Theon shakes his hands, holding the water bottle, pressing on it in rage. He can't bend it much.

Robb breathes in and then holds his own hands, pressing them, squishing the knuckles, trying to find a way, something.

He can't grasp it.

“Why did you let him...?”

Theon laughs again, this time almost strangled, it's quite a choke.

“Why not?”

He shrugs his shoulders and Robb stares at his neck.

The neck he bit and kissed so many times and with so much love... the neck he sank his soul in, the neck that let out their first “I love you” and all the ones to follow. 

He wants to kiss it fine, to kiss it good, to make the scar disappear. He can't.

He gets angry at himself for wanting to, and bites his inner cheek.

“Didn't it occur to you it was... not... like... this is awful. You wouldn't have let anyone suffer that, Theon, I know you. You were a jackass but fuck you wouldn't.... have let this happen to...”

“...good people? - he chuckles – I'm not good.”

“What does good even mean?”

“You, Sansa, Jon...”

Robb is almost crying while smiling, sharply, hurt, “Me? I fucked a girl, no, wait, I wasted a girl's time and her emotional availability while knowing I was gay and absolutely not in love with her, just because I wanted to prove to myself I was over you. - he shouts – I am an asshole, I am the asshole ex, I am the “It's not you it's me” ex, I am the “thought your pussy may miraculously convert me” ex. I don't get to be called a good person, Theon.”

“You never hurt anyone... intentionally, you... you saved me, you always do the right thing.”

“I didn't do it because it was right, though.”

“What?”

“I... I didn't... yes, yes, I do things because I feel they are the right thing and I feel like everyone should go through their lives acting decently, but I'm not a martyr or a good person, because, and listen to me, if that Ramsay was good and kind and anything, I would have still came to you. - he admits it and his tears roll and he walks around in circles and shouts – Goddamit, maybe not yesterday, maybe not in a month, maybe I would have sayed with Jeyne and fucking married her and at forty, I would have came to you and asked you to be with me in secret cause in the meantime I had three kids and I felt coming out would have been hurtful to them and not the right thing but I would have spent twenty years thinking about you and it would have drove me insane.”

Theon blinks, slowly.

“What are you trying to tell me, Robb?”

“I came because I didn't want you to be with someone else. - he sighs and ruffles his own hair – You know what's the shittiest part? You know, I kept thinking you ran away and had a bunch of sex with random girls and were being a fucking man whore because that was the easier, less painful thing to think. Because thinking you might love someone else was a pain so absurd I couldn't even conceive it.”

Theon squints his eyes and shakes his head. Robb can feel his heart aching to swallow all he said, like a damn clogged sink trying to figure out how to get the trash to leave its surface. 

“...why?”

“What?”

“Why would you... care about me still? I left you without any reason...”

“I don't know! - he is yelling, but doesn't want to and his voice drops, he rubs his curls – I... don't want to care.”

“You don't have to... you shouldn't.”

Robb's glance falls again on the scar.

And suddenly all he can think about is their kisses and the way he used to smile, and that smile he doesn't do anymore.

And he wants it back.

And he wants him back, him all.

He is not sure what he is doing when he pushes him down, his hands on Theon's chest, when he grasps his lips again in his own and kisses him with a tornado of scents and greed and need. He needs to drown in him.

As he did before. Theon was his sea.

He pushes his tongue in and Theon welcomes it, his breath is heavy and startled but his hands rush on Robb's back and keep him down over him. They can't take in air, but it doesn't matter – there is frenzy in their hectic, frantic moves. There is a sweet jump into cold water.

Robb pushes his hands through the dark hair and Theon closes his eyes completely, for the first time since... he doesn't know... 

Robb kisses him more, grunting into his mouth, while Theon moans, moving his legs under him.

It stings in the heart of both, when they separate, Theon's hands in the middle, pushing Robb up.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What are we doing?”

“I... - Robb frowns, pants, his eyes glance all over Theon's face, he clearly is not very focused on words – I'm not sure.”

“Are we... is this you getting over it? Like, you screw me one last time and then get closure or...”

“What? No. No, what. - he looks disgusted and offended – What the fuck? No.”

“Then?”

He looks lost. Completely.

“I... I want to take you back...”

“Like what? Come into me and your sperm will erase his?”

There is a weird spite in Theon's voice, but Robb can't get angry, because he can see the sadness underneath, heavy and azure and thick.

And because he is right.

He is right.

“Yes... yes, god, I'm awful. - he turns his head, shakes it and sighs at himself – I... want to erase him from you, I... I need you to be mine.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm yours.”

He says it without thinking, staring at the wall. When the words come out of his mouth, he clearly regrets them, because he goes pale and gulps nervously.

Theon stares at him.

“... you should find someone better, Robb.”

“I don't- I didn't forgive you. But I want you back anyway. I don't get it: I should be angry, but I can't. I tried to, okay? I'm trying to.”

“Should I... go away?”

“No. No, I... do you even want to be with me?”

Theon pauses, he lets the question cross him, like waves on the sand.

His hands are still on Robb's back, holding him close to him.

His lips get heavy.

“No.”

Robb tries to move away but Theon keeps him down. He is so weak, Robb has to fight back his urge to actually move and lets him win.

“Not... yet. - Theon finishes, in a breathless whisper – Not yet... I want you to forgive me and I want to... be less messed up.”

Robb can't stop a smile rising.

And he is bright as the light of the morning.

“Legit... I mean, it's legit. - he starts moving, enthusiastically, but tries to contain himself , his smile gets bigger every moment – It's totally okay, you were through something traumatic and I, I shouldn't force myself on you, either romantically or sexually, and...”

“Cut the crap, Robb. - Theon looks at him essentially done, yet weirdly happy – You were not forcing yourself, I want you. I- It's... I know it's weird, I know it's gross. I shouldn't want anybody, I should not want to be touched, but the truth is... it's you and I... I felt like you were my missing limb for so long... I want it, I want the touch. - he breathes in – But I know I am not ready and I will risk to mess it up and I don't want... to hurt you again.”

Robb nods, slowly.

“Theon...”  
“Yes?”  
“Can I ask you... something? - Robb waits for Theon to nod, and then waits a bit more, feeling stones in his stomach as he speaks – Did you love him?”

Theon looks down.

He looks at Robb's chest.

It feels like home.

“... I loved the way he made me feel.”

Robb frowns, “Trapped?”

“Powerless. - he whispers – ...and he didn't expect anything from me.”

Robb stares at Theon's scar.

“He treated you like a fucking dog.”

“A bitch. - Theon corrects him, with a weird smirk, drenched in hurt – But I couldn't disappoint him.”

“You never disappointed me...”

“Not even when I left?”

Robb sighs, then goes to Theon's desk and opens a drawer. He hands him a usb drive.

“I asked myself why, but... if you disappointed me, I wouldn't have been still into you. - he speaks softly as Theon plays with the key in his hands – Watch this... I sang it the night we fought.”

Theon looks at him, “Thank you...”

Robb nods, “So, do you feel like eating anything?”

“Celery.”

“Yeah, well, we are still at your sister's house. Like, think about it.”

Theon sighs, “I don't really feel hungry.”

“If I told you, I found you sexier without your bones completely out and the face of a ghost, would it help?”

“If I told you it's not about beauty would you believe me?”

“Theon. - he sits there, next to him – You're gonna eat. I know for sure, and you know why? Because whatever this thing was about, now you are safe. You can eat. And if you don't grasp it today or tomorrow, you'll grasp it next week. Otherwise I'm bringing you to a hospital with really ugly coats.”

“Evil.”

“Haven't I grown charmer?”

“Dorkier for sure. - he chuckles, shakes his head – I'll listen to the song...”

Robb smiles, “I- I'll go to tell everyone you woke up.”

“Everyone?”

“My mother wanted to bring some... crumpets for when you'd wake up. - he smiles – Arya and Jon also got you something.”

“Is the world about to end?”

“It risked to.”

Theon lets those words die and cover inside him.

He digests them and pours the seaside over them, keeping them sealed in good.

Robb kisses his forehead, “Sleep a bit more, we will come later...”

And they do.

Like tornados, bringing everyone in, from Jon to Rickon, shouting in joy – some more openly like Arya, who climbed over Theon like a chipmunk on crack, some more quietly, like Jon, who just looked at Theon and nodded solemnly as if he actually said something useful.

Theon can't help but feel slightly nauseated when Cat enters and looks at him.

He remembers the distance, the refusal, the tension.

And she stares at him, like he's broken and she's trying to see beyond that. Like she's trying to figure out if he is any worthy.

Like a rusty coin.

Asha fits barely in the kitchen the biblical amount of presents, edible and not, that the Stark family brought up. Eddard arrived to the point of offering to pay any legal expense and she refused adamantly for the last fifty minutes.

In the other room, he could see Theon smiling, with Rickon on his legs, rocking him.

“You got heavy!”

Rickon frowns, offended, “I got big. I'm all a grown up now!”

“Oh, I see! But then what are your parents?”

“Mummies!”

“...thank you, ray of sunshine. - Catleyn comments, sipping on the wine – What more could a mom ask for?”

Robb laughs, looking at Theon with enchanted, tender eyes.

Sansa notices and Asha does too, with a proud grin. They won, after all.

Robb was finally smiling again honestly.

Asha shakes her head, amused, “You look like a Christmas card from the Mall.”

“Or an 80s tv show. Only the recorded laughing of the audience is missing.”

“I see your sense of humor hasn’t left you.”, Catleyn murmurs, quietly.

Theon goes silent for a moment, remembering, after all, that she never liked him much. And Robb, in order to protect his dignity, mostly, told them a version they agreed on: the guy was blackmailing him with a bad contract and got him in a bad addiction.

He begged him not to mention the abuse, so how could he ask for her compassion?

“Mom...”

“Robb, let me finish. - Cat's wrinkles soften anyway, – “Sometimes, harsh moments turn us into the worst version of ourselves... I'm glad we didn't lose you to that.”

Theon fights back tears and gives a shiny bright smirk.

“I don't think I could ever get worse, to be fair.”

“Your mother was proud and strong and sweet. - she looks also at Asha – I always focused so much on you being your father's children, I forgot to see you are hers, too. - she smiles, moved – I also can admit a mistake, when I make one.”

“Is mom finally accepting Robb's coming out?”, Arya asks, abruptly.

Sansa slaps her on the head, quickly. Bran looks at both of them, perplexed, especially when they start screaming at each other and pulling each other's hair; and as he looks at Robb's hand, caressing Theon's hip just with one finger, shyly, as if he tried not to, as if it were a secret, and Theon smiling – not smirking – it away, biting his lips and sipping orange juice, he figures time is an investment sometimes.

And that everything one day will disappear, just like his walking, because time has a habit of taking away important things not only silly soggy ones.

And maybe to Robb it would have been easier to not waste more time on Theon, to find a boyfriend with no wounds or effort, someone easy to deal with and maybe with a real job.

But he didn't.

Because he had tasted time with Theon and the time without him and he realized which one was the investment and which one the tasteless stale bread of time growing mouldy over his heart.

And Bran thinks, for a moment, that maybe love is that: it's his dad taking months to let his wife accept their son, it's Sansa waiting last year and her diploma to say what she actually feels like, it's Robb and Theon giving each other time despite their bodies wanting to be closer and closer, in need, like polar opposite magnets.

Maybe love is when you decide time is never a waste.

So he smiles.

 

*

 

“Did she recognize you today?”, Robb asks, hands deep in the sink filled with bubbly water, cleaning dishes.

Theon shakes his head, comes behind him and kisses his back, “No. - he rubs his forehead against his big shoulders – But she showed me my photos as a kid, saying she had the prettiest son.”

Robb frowns sadly, bends his neck and kisses Theon's head.

“Hm. Nice. Again.”

Robb chuckles and repeats the kiss.

Theon mumbles, “Agaaain.”

“Bad children who don't clean after themselves get no extra kisses.”

“Sorry, mom! - he laughs – I just got hungry in the middle of the night. Cut me some slack.”

“Only because your butt is back and, god, I love your butt.”

Theon breathes in his scent.

“You did a lot for me these months... maybe I should reward you...”

“Thought you wanted to wait for our first month.”

“One, does it actually count as a first month? - he gives an annoyed grimace – Also, who except cheesy virgin teenagers actually celebrates months?”

“Someone who waited too many of them to finally kiss again the boy he loves.”, Robb complains, pouting slightly.

Theon laughs, “For how I remember it, we always kissed very freely.”

“What wankers.”

Theon rubs his head against Robb's back, “Dork.”

“How is the new sculpture coming out?”

“I feel like clay and glass together are making a great effect.”

“Maybe you'll get the academy prize this year too... - he smiles – My boyfriend is famous.”

“Not yet.”, he chuckles, kissing Robb's ear.

Robb leans a bit behind and lets Theon kiss him more.

“Let me finish the dishes, you need to write some songs. - he comments – You have to get famous and buy me a lot of fancy clothes.”

Robb laughs, “Well, as long as you take them off with me and only me...”

Theon smiles, rubs Robb's curls.

“I'm afraid I won't be able to find excuses, panic and run away this time. - he winks – Even if the make up make out sessions are quite tempting.”

Robb rolls his eyes to the ceiling, “I promise the committed, faithful finally together again sex will be even more.”

Theon sighs, “God, you sound so boring. If I didn't know how you are in bed, I'd be falling asleep.”

“...thank you, I suppose... I mean, I should take it as a compliment, right?”

Theon passes his hands over Robb's waist, hugging him tighter.

“I missed you.”

Robb smiles and turns, kissing him.

“I'm here now.”

Theon pauses, breathes in. He smiles against Robb's back but a sad veil is still over his eyes, “Do you think we may go to the sea? - he swallows - Bit of skinny dipping and... memories?”

Robb's smile is warm and kind. He is a tender, sweet fire in his heart.

But sometimes he can still feel the lines of the collar, cold as ice, and the words they all said.

Sometimes firelight doesn't chase monsters away.

He grabs Robb's shirt. He sinks his nails into it, scared of the abyss he could trip into if he had to stand on by himself.

He can't say that.

“Sure, umh, tonight or...?”

And he finds a way to smile.

“Now.”

“Now?”, Robb laughs, suddenly shy out of Theon's passion.

Theon turns him and grabs his hands, he lowers his eyes then closes them and moves up, kissing him, catching his lips, pressing his mouth open and then he pours heart and tongue into him, moving, pressing. Robb's hands move on his hips and bring him close, until their bodies rub.

Robb can feel the slight soft belly and he smiles, thinking about how good it is now.

And how much he waited to find him and grab him back, instead, burns in his guts.

He would have left him there years just to prove himself strong... he never thought the sense of justice of his parents, the moral compass they gave his heart, would have come with pride.

And never would have wanted to risk his most precious thing to it.

He deepens the kiss and sinks in Theon, bringing his soul and feeding it to him on a silver plate.

And Theon smiles, holding Robb.

Finding the place where waves go to sleep.

The home of the sea opens his arms to him and he kisses it again.

 

 


End file.
